For My Next Trick
by Objessions
Summary: Pre-series story from a pic prompt from the un-aired pilot. Big shout out of thanks to Gib, because I'm already having a ball. Mac and Jack centered early bromance origin story for how Jack wound up watching Mac's back at DXS. If you want to see the pic, check out the cover image! As always, I own nothing and I'm just here to have fun paying homage to my favorite show!
1. Chapter 1

As far as Jack could tell, Mac hadn't left the family cabin in over a week.

He couldn't verify that with true certainty. This was a small town, and he didn't want the kid to catch wind of his presence until he was sure that seeing him was going to be better than leaving him alone. Jack fervently wished that Mac hadn't talked his grandfather into coming out here to live out his last days.

It made recon a real bitch. The house in LA would have been ideal, from Jack's perspective. Busy neighborhood, good surveillance vantage points. But even the old homestead in Mission City would have been better than the cabin.

The practically nonexistent town he was staying in that was about a half hour from Lost Coast was still a twenty minute drive to the cabin itself. And Mac didn't seem to come into town any more that he had to just to survive.

It had taken CIA less than no time to snap Jack back up the minute Mac had received his hardship discharge to head back to the states and help his grandfather set his affairs in order and care for him during his illness. Jack's original assignment had been in the bag months before he "re-upped" but he just couldn't bring himself to leave that kid there in that mess without an overwatch Jack trusted, which meant he needed to be the kid's overwatch.

But, despite how very busy he'd been over the last year and a half, Jack had kept close tabs on MacGyver. As close as he could given both their situations anyway. His new job gave him a little more flexibility.

Last time he'd checked in on the kid it had almost looked like Gramps might pull through. But first Chechnya happened, then DXS got in touch. Jack had been busy, but Mac's welfare had stayed in the back of his mind. He kept telling himself he'd look back in on Mac at some point. Then Miles called him.

Mac wasn't himself, the kid's former bunkmate from his earliest Army days said. Mac had helped him out of a tight spot a few months ago, but it had been radio silence since. Mac hanging out all alone in the middle of nowhere, not talking to anybody was bad. Miles asked Jack, pleaded with him was probably more accurate to try. Miles would have died in Afghanistan if Mac hadn't been there the day the IED blew their transport. If Mac wouldn't talk to Miles, maybe he would talk to Jack, the young man reasoned.

Jack had called, but he'd just gone to voicemail.

More than once.

Fortunately an opportunity to go check on good ole Carl's Junior had presented itself shortly thereafter.

He'd only been with the firm a few months, but he'd already made enough of a name for himself that his casual mention of Mac in response to his boss Patricia Thornton's questions about his assignment with the Army for CIA had gotten her curious. Curious enough that she'd done some digging on Jack's former assignment.

She came to him a day later saying it could be lucky for the whole intelligence community that Jack had been assigned to protect Mac as part of his cover investigating illegal weapons trade by one of the officers on that particular base. Angus MacGyver, she said, was an intriguing individual. She wanted Jack to arrange a meeting. Patricia had been very clear. He didn't know her well enough to push the boundaries of her expectations too much yet. He only had a week.

Of course, she was interested in talking to Mac. Anyone in her line of work who'd seen his service record or his academic records would be. Jack still wasn't sure he should make the offer. So he was taking a measured approach. If measured approaches included hanging out in the woods near the cabin in a deer stand (which Jack would have bet his trigger finger had belonged to Mac's grandfather and which Jack was absolutely positive the kid was unaware of because he would have no interest either being up in the tree or shooting at anything), with binoculars.

Mac had been keeping to himself, staying indoors, as far as Jack could tell. He hadn't managed to get a good look at the kid yet. Mac had gone out for a run early (like zero dark thirty early) in baggy sweats and an oversized hoodie with the hood up but there was something about his appearance that Jack didn't like.

When Mac left about a half hour ago, dressed in much the same fashion, only wearing his grandfather's leather jacket over the sweats and a tuc pulled down over his head so far Jack could barely make out the kid's eyes, Jack was sorely tempted to go get a look inside the house.

He'd poked around the property a little, looking in the few windows where the shades weren't drawn first. The bedroom was one of those. Jack frowned for a full five minutes at that. The room was a wreck. Mac was a very neat person, very orderly, or at least he had been. But now, laundry all over the floor, stacks of clean laundry on top of the dresser instead of put away, and it didn't look like the bed had been changed or made since … ever.

That was very telling.

He looked in the garage on his way by. That at least was as he expected it; tools arranged with all the precision of instruments in an operating room, and nearly as clean. There was some sort of contraption that involved a half taken apart leaf blower and a chainsaw on the work table. But it was covered in dust. Hmmm … Jack didn't like that any more than he liked the messy bedroom.

Jack considered going inside for a look around again, but something told him not to. He was just resituating himself in the tree stand when Mac pulled back into his small parking area. Jack picked up his binoculars again. Mac just got out with a large paper bag. It was from the local hardware store if the printing on it was accurate. Jack had sort of been hoping for groceries, but no such luck.

As Mac unlocked his door, he glanced over his shoulder toward the woods, frowning for a moment. Then he just went inside, casting one more glance in that direction before shutting the door. Jack smiled to himself. Mac's instincts were still good, obviously. He felt watched.

It was probably time to either make contact or get the hell out of Dodge.

Jack had just about made up his mind to go get his rental car from the abandoned camp by the lake about a half hour's walk through the woods and pull up like he'd just showed up for a surprise visit, when the door opened again. Mac came out this time in attire much more like that which Jack was used to seeing him in when they'd met up a few times right after Mac had left the Army, jeans, a faded t-shirt, hiking boots. But Jesus the kid had gotten skinny, Jack thought, mildly horrified by just how thin Mac looked. He'd probably dropped twenty pounds since he left Afghanistan. He was pale too, like he'd spent about as much time inside every other week as he had the few days Jack had been … observing him.

And he clearly hadn't hit up a barbershop since the last time Jack had seen him. Mac was always prone to push the regs a little with the length of his hair, and when they'd met that had been easy to do since they were in an area and working at jobs that came with some different expectations, but now it fell over his shoulders. Didn't look terribly well taken care of either.

Jack took a deep breath.

It was good that Mac's buddy had called him, good that he came.

Then Jack felt his stomach drop as Mac made a beeline for the trees.

Right where Jack had perched himself.

 _Well, shit._

He hadn't even managed to start climbing down when Mac was at the base of the tree. He looked even less like he was doing great up close. Probably because instead of looking his full twenty-three years that included being a professional bomb tech in the US military who'd driven Humvees and two and a half ton supply trucks and on one notable emergency occasion a tank, he looked like he might not have been able to apply for his learner's permit yet.

Then he looked up and his hair fell back off his face and he smirked. He just looked like Mac again at that moment. "Hey, Jack. Wanna come inside? It's supposed to rain like hell this afternoon."

"Um … Hey, Mac … I … Um …Sorry to surprise you like this … Um …"

"Surprise? You've been creeping around for like three days now."

Jack started to climb down. Staying up here and calling down just made his feeling of being busted worse. "You knew I was here?" he asked sheepishly.

"Of course I did."

"How in the hell ..?"

"I have game cameras set up on a feed into Gramps' desktop. There's a lot of cool wildlife that comes around. And apparently it's a great place to spot a sneaky sniper."

Jack dropped down onto the ground next to Mac. "I'm sorry, kid … I just …"

For the first time, Mac's annoyance bled into his expression. "What the hell are you doing here, Jack, especially spying on me?"

Jack swallowed hard. He didn't want to talk about DXS yet, but he also wanted to be honest, because Mac was a guy who could smell a lie from fifty yards. "Eggs called me."

Mac's eyes widened and his voice rose just a little. "What for?" he asked sharply.

Jack's expression hardened a little. "What do you think, there, Angus? You dropped off the map for a month here and apparently you were with Eggs doing I probably don't want to know what given the crowd he's been running with and then you come back and you don't return the guy's calls." Jack's arms folded across his chest, a gesture Mac knew mean Jack was in lecture mode and unlikely to stop even if he said anything. "Then you don't return mine! What are your friends supposed to think, Mac?"

Mac gave him a very superior look. "That I've been busy and …"

"Busy? Doing what?" Jack's voice rose a little bit now. "Not finding a job, or going back to school like you said you were gonna when you got discharged, and definitely not cleaning your house … or _eating_." Jack's eyebrows climbed and Mac recognized Jack's most protective expression hiding behind irritation.

In spite of his irritation with Jack's lurking and he and Miles Benedict conspiring behind Mac's back, Mac laughed. He couldn't help himself. "I eat, Jack. _And_ I clean my house. I've just been busy lately so it hasn't been a priority."

Jack raised his eyebrows and looked down at Mac. It was his 'calling bullshit' expression. "Mac … Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like hell. You've lost what … twenty, twenty-five pounds?"

Mac just shrugged. "I just look skinny to you because you're used to me on mandatory PT. Left to my own devices, I mostly like to just run. So maybe I've lost a little muscle mass, a little weight, but …"

Jack cleared his throat and Mac stopped. He knew it was more than a little.

"Okay, maybe slightly more than a little … but like I said … I've been busy."

Jack nodded like he was just accepting what Mac was saying rather than getting more worried about the kid isolating himself up here in the middle of nowhere and living like he was still shut in because he had to be to care for a dying man. "Okay, kid. What have you been busy with?"

Mac grinned and for a split second Jack saw the expression he'd learned meant good things were about to happen and he didn't need luck because he had Mac for a partner.

"Come inside. I'll show you."


	2. Chapter 2

As he stepped through the door, Jack was happy to see that the entire cabin was not as disorderly as Mac's bedroom. However, the number of half finished unidentifiable projects discarded on just about every available work surface was almost as concerning.

"Um … So …" Jack paused, trying to decide how to put this nicely. Deciding there was no way, he plunged ahead. "You've been busy, what, not finishing things?"

"They'll get finished," Mac said defensively. "I'm just going with where inspiration strikes."

"Mmm," was Jack's noncommittal acknowledgement.

Then something occurred to him, just a little test.

"Hey, man, I hate to ask, but I forgot to bring my pack with me when I was … checking up on you …" he trailed off lamely.

Mac gave him a hard look, but then just indicated a door, and he stopped to unlock it. It opened on the basement stairs.

Jack went on. "You got anything I could throw on a sandwich or something, man. I'm starving. I forgot to eat this morning … And I don't remember when I ate dinner ... Like I feel a little shaky."

Clearly, from Mac's immediate concerned expression, he'd sold the genuineness of the comment, despite how completely disingenuous it was. Jack had eaten a monster breakfast at the local diner this morning and come away with the waitress's phone number to boot.

"Um … yeah … I should have asked. I'm sorry. Let's go get you something first. The kitchen's this way …"

Mac indicated the hallway to the left and he led Jack to the small eat-in kitchen, making Jack sit down while he went over and opened the refrigerator.

Mac stood there for a second. The he went to the dish drainer and managed to find a clean glass. He got ice out of the freezer, water from the tap and handed Jack the glass. Jack forced the knowing smirk to stay off his face. He said carefully. "Anything is fine, man. I just gotta eat something. I'm gettin' a killer headache."

Mac nodded and got a slightly frantic look around his eyes. He went back to the fridge again and opened it, almost like he was hoping circumstances had changed. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, reinforcing Jack's impression that the kid looked like a middle teenager, rather than the full-fledged adult he was. "Um … there's nothing great in here … Um … Hang on a sec …"

Mac closed the fridge and darted out of the room, like he was on an important mission.

Jack waited until Mac was gone down the hall before he got up and went and opened the refrigerator. There was a mostly full gallon of milk that look suspiciously like it had decided to be cottage cheese a while ago. A six pack of twenty ounce Gatorades that looked reasonably sanitary. A carton of eggs that looked vaguely soggy on the outside. And some moldy cheese.

He heard Mac returning with a brisk pace so he sat back down at the table. Mac came in, sat down, and handed him a reasonably decent looking protein bar. Jack took it but didn't open it. He just eyeballed the kid in a way that let Mac knew he was in some hot water with his former partner. "I appreciate the gesture Mac, but I don't want to eat all your hiking supplies. Some cheese and crackers, or like half a pb and j would more than do me, kid."

Mac avoided Jack's eyes for a minute, then he sighed almost inaudibly. "I kind of need to go grocery shopping … That's your best bet. Um … or we could go out, get some lunch at the place in town … The Flame Thrower, I think the local burger joint is called …" Then Mac grinned like he'd just figured out how to get himself off the hook. "If you can eat their bacon cheeseburger with ghost chili aioli they pay for your whole table's meal, drinks, dessert; the works!"

Jack smiled slightly. Classic Mac deflection, but if he could get the kid into a restaurant, odds were he'd have at least one decent meal while Jack was here. Jack decided right then that he wasn't going to bring up DXS. Angus MacGyver was in no shape to get pulled into the intelligence community right now. If for no other reason than Jack was pretty sure in his current overly thin and clearly sleep deprived state, he'd never pass the damned physical.

"I can get us a free dinner then," he replied with a grin.

"Dinner?" Mac asked, suddenly looking a little uncertain. "I thought you were hungry, man. No reason to wait."

Jack gave him another long look that caused a slight ' _oh shit_ ' expression to flit across Mac's sharp features. "Mac, bud, it's like five thirty, man. It's early dinner, but dinner just the same."

Mac unconsciously bit his lip for a second. "Guess I should be paying more attention to the clock." Then his eyes widened. "Oh, hell!"

He hopped up from the table and darted out of the room, back in the direction of the basement door.

Jack shook his head, smiling a little. Mac's brain was usually fifty places at once. Unless he was working a problem.

Correction, unless he was working an important problem.

Mac wasn't someone who could be distracted with the mundane. His brain was always going at a million miles a minute, as far as Jack could tell, and it was usually splintered in a million directions. Jack couldn't decide if that was ADHD or PTSD, but it was probably something with an acronym, if his experience told him anything.

But … when something of consequence, like, for example, a bomb, presented itself, Mac's focus was like a laser, was surgically precise, almost scary.

Jack decided to follow Mac and see if his general distraction was about to blow up or burn down his current residence. Jack half chuckled to himself when he thought at least that would give him an excuse to get the kid to LA where he could keep a better eye on him now that he was with DXS in the LA office.

When Jack clomped down the oddly spaced, shoddily built open wooden stairs into the surprisingly well-appointed finished basement that Mac had clearly turned into a lab of sorts, and that opened up on a fairly extensive library with a number of desks with computers in it.

Funny, Jack thought. This was not new construction. But the door and the stairs said rickety old basement where that dude from Saw was probably riding his big scary tricycle around. This had been some sort of office space for a long time.

Instead of commenting on that, Jack stepped up next to where Mac was hurriedly turning down flames on bunsen burners and adjusting the height on what Jack thought he remembered were called ring stands. "Don't tell me you decided to go all Heisenberg just because y'all don't work for the government anymore," Jack drawled.

"You know who Werner Heisenberg …" Mac trailed off and then laughed. "Okay, you watch Breaking Bad. I should have known."

Jack was too busy squinting at a glass container full of clearish green liquid to pay any attention to Mac's implication that there was something wrong with just losing yourself in a popular TV show. Or maybe Mac's issue was with the name Heisenberg from his tone of voice. Sounded like maybe there was a real Heisenberg Mac thought was important.

Jack glanced at Mac. "Whatcha makin' here, flubber? Because if you could make flubber that would be pretty cool."

Mac snorted laughter. "It's not flubber, Jack. My grandfather's truck keeps overheating. I'm working on altering the properties of radiator fluid to see if I can change up it's temperature sensitivity and viscosity to produce a better result."

Jack frowned, knowing Mac knew plenty about working on equipment. "Why not just rebuild or replace the radiator?"

"I've already done a rebuild, but it's still happening. Since I wasn't able to fix it mechanically, I figured I'd try chemically."

Jack just nodded, leaning a little closer to the container. "I guess that makes sense … You sure you ain't makin' flubber though, 'cause …"

"It's definitely not flubber." Mac shook his head. Then he had another nicely distracting idea. "We could sorta make flubber though."

Jack glanced at him. "Really?"

Mac grinned, ignoring Jack for a minute to adjust some more of his apparatus. "Yeah, we could make a non-newtonian fluid and …"

"A what?" Jack asked sort of absently.

Mac answered just as absently, checking the temperature on several of the solutions with a digital thermal probe. "A non-newtonian fluid is a fluid that does not follow Newton's Law of Viscosity. Most commonly, the viscosity (the gradual deformation by shear or tensile stresses) of non-Newtonian fluids is dependent on shear rate or shear rate history. Some non-Newtonian fluids with shear-independent viscosity, however, still exhibit normal stress-differences or other non-Newtonian behavior. If you create one and expose it to sound waves, especially ones with a fair amount of low frequency rhythmic noise, they dance like flubber."

Jack decided to just pretend any of that was in English since he was actually more interested in the green liquid in front of him at the moment anyway. "Oh, yeah, how do we make it?" Jack reached out his hand, wondering what might happen to this flubber looking stuff if he agitated the container, regardless of what Mac said.

"Um … well, we'll have to stop at the market when we go out for dinner. You need basically equal parts cornstarch and water for what I have in mind and …"

Jack suddenly yelped and glass shattered.

Mac spun to see his large Erlenmeyer flask full of his latest completed distillate broken on the floor and his former overwatch clutching his hand with his eyes squeezed shut, which didn't stop the tears from squeezing out at the corners. "Jack!" Mac's voice was somewhere in between annoyed that Jack had disrupted his experiment and horrified that his friend was hurt.

Mac quickly turned off the bunsen burner and stepped carefully toward Jack, crunching over the broken glass and radiator fluid (sort of radiator fluid, anyway). "Hey, man, you okay? That was really really hot."

Jack opened his eyes and looked regretfully at Mac. "Yeah, no, I'm alright. I didn't think it could be that hot. It wasn't even bubblin' like it might boil."

Jack's voice was so tight with pain Mac knew Jack's initial statement was bull. Still he heaved a slightly frustrated sigh. "Jack, I told you it was experimental radiator fluid. Regular fluid boils significantly above the temperature of water, something like 223 degrees. This stuff, you probably just grabbed a five hundred degree …" Mac stopped himself. "Let's see it."

"It's fine," Jack repeated, completely untruthfully.

Mac ran a frustrated hand through his abundant hair. "Jack, that's not how getting burned works. Heat transfer just happened, no matter how tough you think you are. Kind of like bullets just go through you if you're in the way. Let me see your hand or I swear I will start explaining the Laws of Thermodynamics and I'm going to expect you to do the math."

Jack rolled his eyes. Suddenly Mac sounded like the disapproving older brother. Jack thought maybe the kid was just mimicking his tone from their last encounter, the phone call where Jack had asked if Mac was going back to school after his grandfather had passed and Mac said he didn't know. Bringing that up was probably not going to enhance his chances of getting Mac to listen to him about his concerns (not to mention Miles's worries). Instead of pointing out the irritating role reversal, Jack forced himself to let go of his throbbing hand and let Mac get a look at it.

Mac sucked in a breath through his teeth. "That's nasty, man. C'mon back upstairs. I've got a decent first aid kit kicking around somewhere … if I can remember where I put it the last time I needed it …"

Mac preceded him up the stairs, frowning and trying to remember the last place he'd had the first aid kit. There'd been nearly slicing off the tip of his finger trying to make his own electric knife … The converting the grill to his own version of an infrared cooker incident … the chainsaw thing … That's where it was. The garage, Mac realized with certainty.

He made Jack stand at the sink running cold water over the hideous blisters on his hand while he went to grab the first aid kid from the garage. As he looked around he had to acknowledge that he could see why Jack was wearing that familiar protective look right up until he'd scorched the hell out of his hand. Unfinished projects were everywhere. And the place looked practically unused, unlived in.

Mac sighed and shook his head. Maybe it was time to follow through with what he'd been thinking about lately. But the thought made him nervous, twitchy. He'd deal with that after he had Jack Dalton out of Brother Bear mode and sent back to wherever he'd dropped out of the sky from. He didn't need a babysitter, damn it.

By the time he had the non-stick bandages out of the bag he was actually more worried about Jack's burn than about getting rid of his former partner so he could go back to brooding (not that he was actively admitting to himself that that's what he'd been up to in the six months since his grandfather's death). "Hold still a minute," he practically growled. Jack was fidgety and in pretty obvious pain. When Mac finished taping the loose bandage down, he stood. "You stay here and keep that elevated. I'm gonna go get my jacket and keys."

"Ah, Mac I hate to back out on dinner, bud, because believe me I'd like to know you actually ate some, but I'm not real hungry any more. This kinda hurts. Sorta killed my appetite."

Mac rolled his eyes, but his face slipped into a familiar fond grin. "Yeah, I figured. Which is why we're gonna drive to the emergency room and let somebody look at that and probably hand you a giant pile of antibiotics and pain pills."

Jack immediately got his defensive look. "I don't need an emergency room over breaking a little beaker …"

"It was an Erlenmeyer flask. And it gave you at least second degree burns. Which require medical attention." Mac paused. "Go ahead and justify avoiding medical attention for a clear emergency to me." The statement was a dare. Jack glared in response. "I can't just throw you over my shoulder the way you did to me two Christmases ago when we got blown up, but if you remember the last time you went full stubborn Delta dumbass,in Nari Saraj, I rang your bell pretty good and I'll do it again."

Jack almost chuckled at that. "I thought we agreed that we were never going to mention either of those incidents again?" he asked with a little humor in his voice.

"I'll try to put them back under wraps if you just go get in the damned truck and let somebody look at that."

Jack nodded, thinking that he wanted to say Mac was overreacting. But he knew that for starters Mac would just respond that he learned it from the best, and also, Jack was starting to think a couple of Vicodin wouldn't exactly be the worst thing to have, given how his hand was now throbbing.

Mac went and turned off his experiment's various heat sources, got his keys, and drove Jack the nearly forty minutes to the nearest emergency room. He'd nearly forgotten just how much Jack hated to admit to being hurt, and even more how much he detested hospitals. Mac sighed, thinking he could relate.

Waiting for Jack's prescription for the predicted antibiotics and pain medication, Mac took a paperclip out of the container on the desk at the nurses station and started mangling it as he sat next to the much more heavily bandaged than before Jack. "You okay, kid?" Jack asked, frowning at the expression on Mac's face.

"Yeah," he replied, sounding hoarse for a moment. He cleared his throat. "I'm fi …" He trailed off. He wasn't fine at the moment and Jack could obviously tell. It would save time and close the subject faster to just be honest. "I … um … I hate this place." He said it without any real emotion.

Jack's head was tilted to one side like he was trying to figure something out. "You hate a hospital? Color me surprised, kid." He said in the gently teasing manner he often used to get Mac to open up and talk about something if the kid got too tight-lipped. Mac just gave him a small smile and didn't say anything else. Jack decided to try again. "Seems like this is more specific than your usual though. Especially since you're not the one being tormented by the scrubs squad."

Mac swallowed hard. "This is where my grandfather died, Jack," he offered without much more emotion than he'd spoken with a few moments before. "I … It was a depressingly familiar experience." He shrugged. "Your pills are ready," he tipped his chin in the direction of the counter where a young man had a small paper bag and a stack of papers that Mac was sure Jack was never going to read. "You sit. I'll get them."

Jack contemplated Mac's back as the kid talked to the pharmacy tech. That was a lot for Mac to admit to, to talk about. Jack decided he was going to keep the rest of the evening very low pressure. He'd have to watch himself, because he still wanted to lecture the kid silly about his state of affairs, but he knew that was a first class ticket to Mac shutting down. He'd learned that the hard way early on over in the Goat Farm.

When they got back in the truck, Jack decided he'd just focus on maybe getting Mac to eat some dinner. Now that the pills the nurse had brought him a while ago had kicked in a little, Jack felt reasonably certain he could eat something, too. "So you still want to hit up The Flame Thrower and see if I can get us a free ride?" he asked casually.

Mac glanced at him as he started the struck, letting it run for a minute and peering at the temperature gauge, deciding it had been sitting long enough to behave itself. Mac tipped him a smile. "I don't know Jack, I think you've suffered enough from heat tonight."

Jack laughed at that. "S'pose you might be right about that, bud," he chuckled.

Mac put the truck into gear and started pulling out of the parking lot. This wasn't a terribly populated area, but you could tell it was a weekend night because the emergency room was starting to get busy, a phenomenon Mac had noticed over the months of trips here with his grandfather.

"Where are you staying?" Mac asked.

"The Blue Sparrow Inn. They don't serve food though, bud. I been eatin' at the diner up the street."

"Which has nothing to do with the pretty redhead who pours the coffee I'm sure," Mac grinned.

"I got that lovely lady's digits this morning, pal. So … Yeah." Jack smiled at the memory and then winced as he bumped his hand against the seat belt buckle. "Sssss," he hissed.

"Yeah, about that," Mac nodded at Jack's had, turning to get back on the interstate. "I'm not dropping you off … We're gonna pick up your stuff. You can stay with me tonight. I can drive you back to the airport whenever you're booked to fly out."

"I can drive my … Okay, that sounds good," he conceded after Mac just half turned and raised an eyebrow at him.

"After we get your stuff, I'll just pull into the market and get some groceries. I can cook you some dinner, then you can pass out from those pain pills and snore and keep me up all night. It'll be just like the bad old days," Mac teased, not wanting to admit that he sort of liked the idea of having company tonight.

Jack could see it, but didn't comment on it. "You mean to tell me one of the things you can do with that ginormous brain of yours is cook? Because I never did see any evidence of that the whole time we worked together," he said.

"I can cook!" Mac said defensively.

"Really?" Jack teased, with a smirk.

He thought Mac might have actually flushed a little at his skepticism. "Well, I mean, not really … But I could get some frozen pizza and throw it in the oven," he shrugged. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but that's pretty much all he ever did if he wasn't just eating protein bars lately. Not that he never had a premade salad or some apples or something, but for him it was either whole food he didn't have to cook, or innocuous premade somethingorother that he didn't have to think about.

"Sure, kid," Jack agreed, pretty sure he knew exactly what Mac was thinking.

He was heartened by the off of dinner and a place to crash, say nothing of Mac revealing just what had him looking so tense back at the hospital. He was pretty sure he could get Mac talking, even if it was just about his random projects. And Jack had a couple of days to work on him.

It wasn't much.

But it was a start.


	3. Chapter 3

Mac looked down the hall into the living room, just sort of making sure Jack was where he'd left him, parked in front of the TV with a huge box of Mac's grandfather's DVDs to sort through, and Comedy Central playing something innocuous on to pass the time until their pizza was cooked.

He'd told Jack he was going to make them a salad and he'd been making noise in the kitchen for about fifteen minutes, but all he'd really done was open the premade salad from the store and throw it in a bowl with the packet of dressing it came with. Then he'd done a bunch of cleaning up of the mess Jack seemed so concerned about. It gave him something to do while the pizza was cooking and ...

He was avoiding conversation. And he knew it.

He hadn't even batted an eye when Jack picked up the six pack of local beer. Normally he would have pointed out the dangers of mixing alcohol with his prescribed medications, but instead he'd almost been relieved. He couldn't help thinking that a vicodin, a belly full of pizza, and a beer, combined with borning TV would have Jack snoring on the couch in no time. It was late, anyway.

He didn't know why he was avoiding talking to Jack. At first he tried to tell himself that he was pissed off at Jack's spying on him like a low rent PI in a bad TV show from before Mac was born. But he knew that wasn't it. He hadn't really been all that pissed off about it when he first caught the image of his former overwatch on the game cameras two days ago. Not really. There was nothing sinister about it. The guy just seemed … worried.

And sure, it was kind of weird, and a huge violation of boundaries, and seemed sort of insane, but it was also so totally … Jack. And he knew why Jack had shown up.

Mac meant to return Jack's calls, but he just kept getting distracted.

Besides the last time they talked Jack had questioned him about his plans and Mac had been a little pissed off about that. First it was about when he was going back to school like he'd said he was going to do when he first knew he was going home. Then it was grilling him about whether or not he was thinking about reenlisting. He wasn't, but it irked him that Jack was so dead set against it.

The conversation had ended quite abruptly when Jack asked, "Well, what are you gonna do, kid?"

He knew what Jack had meant, but what he'd said was, "You mean after I bury my grandfather? Whatever I damned well please."

They hadn't talked much after that.

Of course, friends conspiring to check up on him was more irritating than the actual checking. He was stewing a little about Miles calling Jack. Mac and Miles were friends, as much as Mac made friends in the Army before meeting Jack, but those two barely knew each other. Eggsy had already been back stateside when Mac met Jack and while his former bunkmate and now-former partner had met when Jack sauntered into the common area during one of the video calls Mac and Eggs had taken to making while Mac was still deployed, that had been the extent of their association. As far as Mac knew, anyway.

Mac sighed, finally pulling the pizza out of the oven. Then again, Mac knew from how hard Miles worked to stay in touch, he clearly thought of Mac as a close friend. Mac also knew the guy believed he owed Mac his life. Mac thought that was silly. Not the friend part, the owing thing. Anybody would have applied a tourniquet and called for evac.

Eggs said that wasn't true though, he said that most people would have just laid there doing their own I just got blown up bleeding themselves while he'd bled out. But not Mac.

The first time Mac had gotten an inkling that Eggs had taken to hero worshipping him a little was one of those video calls when the guy's sister had walked into the room while they were chatting and he'd gone on for a full five minutes, making Mac's half-conscious radio call and efforts at slowing blood loss (that Mac didn't point out also lost the man his leg) sound like Paul Atreides freeing Herakis in _Dune_.

And both men were prone to worrying. Eggs looked even younger than Mac, but he was three years his senior and Jack … Jack had enough time on him to pull off Dad tone over irritating big brother when he took it into his head without working very hard at it. Mac had to admit, to himself anyway, as he sliced their pizza with the cutter he'd made from a repurposed saw blade that was too dull for the shop and the broken wheel of his grandfather's office chair, he'd probably given them reason to worry with his silence. He just needed time to get his head back on straight. Losing his grandfather … it had brought a lot of things up he would rather have not remembered.

Then his father had called …

 _Whoa_ , he mentally chided himself as he stopped that train of thought. He wasn't dealing with that tonight, not even just in his own head. Besides, Jack didn't seem to get the whole dad situation. Jack's family had been so close. The one time Mac had said anything about it before, he and Jack had nearly had a fight.

Mac sighed again and realized anyone who'd been with him this afternoon and evening would have thought he had some sort of breathing problem. He'd been doing it a lot. It was a tired, defeated sound and he didn't like it.

Determined to ignore it (like you have been for the last six months you mean? His inner voice asked with full snark) he plated up the pizza, put some salad on each plate with a fork, arranged the plates on one arm, a trick he'd picked up waiting tables as one of his side jobs when he was at MIT, then picked up two beers with the other hand and headed into the living room.

Mac was relieved to find that he didn't have to work all that hard at keeping the conversation light and not overly personal. They talked sports, women (or in both of their cases, the lack thereof in their lives), and Jack regaled Mac with tales of some of the things he'd been up to that weren't totally classified.

It was technically early the next morning when Mac finally loosened up a little. Jack had kind of encouraged Mac's beer drinking a little, by very subtly just opening new ones and leaving them in easy reach on the coffee table and Mac wasn't much of a drinker, so after three he was much less guarded than usual.

Jack was still nursing the first one he'd opened.

"Well," Mac said, with a fair amount of genuine interest. "I know you're out of the Army … And I know you're not doing whatever you were really doing when you were in the Army too," he continued, only slightly nonsensically, since it had been apparent to Jack for over an hour that Mac had never totally bought the 'this guy is a sergeant just serving his country by watching your ass' thing. "So what is it you do now?"

Jack smiled. He hadn't been going to bring up DXS this time, had decided to wait until Mac was in a better place, but since the kid was giving him an opening, he figured he might as well. Even if it wasn't idea, Jack reasoned, DXS would be a hell of a lot better than the kid just wasting away up here talking to the ghosts of his childhood. "I actually work at a think tank."

Mac snorted and nearly choked on his beer, drawing attention to the fact that his first slice of pizza was still half eaten on his plate. "Doing what?" he asked, not meaning to sound incredulous, but doing so anyway.

"Personal security for the braniacs who do the real work, out in the field," he said with a self-deprecating shrug. What he did was a lot more complicated than that, but he'd already told Thornton that if they brought the kid on, he was not done being the guy's overwatch. Not by a long shot. Might as well lay the groundwork now, Jack thought, because if Mac came in to DXS it would be on a trial basis and he would have to think it really was a think tank until Thornton had truly evaluated his capabilities.

Mac gave him a long look, and in spite of his increasing inebriation, raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Okay. Right. So what is it you really do?"

Jack knew that tone. It was the Mac smells bullshit for real tone. How did the kid always know when he was up to something, damnit? Instead of getting defensive, Jack laughed. "I could tell ya but I'd have ta kill ya."

Mac broke out laughing too. It was the same exact thing he'd said when Mac sort of cottoned on to the fact that maybe Army grunt (even of the highly trained elite variety) wasn't all there was to Jack Dalton.

"Okay, fair enough," Mac said after his laughter tapered off at that memory. Then Jack was giving him a look that said they were about to discuss Mac's vocational options. He quickly picked up a DVD off the coffee table. "Hey, wanna watch Die Hard?"

Jack knew what Mac was up to. Neither one of them was great at getting one over on the other, he supposed. But he also didn't want to call him out directly for avoiding a difficult conversation. "I mean, we sure could bud, but it's gettin' kinda late. Maybe we ought to get a little sleep."

Mac looked at the clock on the cable box and then at Jack. Poor dude looked exhausted. Mac almost smirked, thinking he'd probably look a lot less tired if he hadn't worn himself out shimmying up that damned tree all week. Then he contemplated exactly how much of the painkiller Jack probably had in his system, and mentally added the alcohol Jack had consumed to that (which in Mac's head had kept pace with his own consumption). "Yeah, sure, man. You must be beat."

"I sure am, I can't lie." He didn't add that his suggestion was only partially selfish at first. Then he couldn't help it. "You look like you could do with a little shuteye, too, pal."

Mac just smiled a small neutral looking smile and asked Jack if he wanted to crash on the couch or in the guestroom where Mac had stowed his bags earlier. Jack said the room was fine since he didn't want Mac to have to lug blankets and pillows and stuff.

After seeing that Jack was settled, Mac headed for his own room, flipping on the light and closing the door. He should try to get some sleep. But, that would most likely go like it had been and his dreaming would just wake Jack up and alert him that all was not as well as Mac was saying it was. Another sigh escaped his lips.

He looked around. Jack was right about his place being a mess. He cast another glance at his bed. Then he decided to spare himself the pain and frustration of a fractured night's sleep.

Mac pulled his garbage can out of the attached bath, and started quietly cleaning the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack woke early the next morning. He knew before he even rolled over onto his side that he was alone in the house. It was the unnatural quiet only a deserted place ever was. And God knew he'd been in enough of them to know that peculiar silent sound.

He also knew that it hadn't been light out for very long. Didn't seem to matter how late he stayed up, if he was acclimated to local time, his eyes popped open by 5:30.

He got up and took a quick tour around the cabin, finding his first impression was correct. Mac wasn't home. Or if he was, he was in the locked basement. Jack didn't think anyone was down there though. He looked out into the driveway. Mac's grandfather's truck was parked right where Mac had pulled it up last night.

Jack looked around a little more. There was a pot of coffee on the counter, but it was mostly cooled off. He grumbled to himself a little. No note, nothing. He headed back to the guest room after washing down one of the painkillers the doc had kindly prescribed for his burns last night with tepid black coffee. He briefly considered showering and then realized it would mean changing the bandages on his crispy hand and decided to just do his best to wash up in the sink and get dressed.

After a longer and more painful process than Jack was expecting (which he blamed on the lack of properly hot coffee, otherwise he'd have been anticipating the suck level) he left the guest room to find the house still empty. Jack frowned. He was reasonably certain he knew where Mac left the keys to the truck, but he was pretty sure driving it with his bum hand would be agony, and he thought if he took off looking for Mac, like he might have back in their Army days if the kid wasn't where he expected him, Mac would probably be furious.

Instead, he went back into the kitchen and poured a second cup of coffee, this time popping it into the microwave, realizing too late that Mac must have done something to the device because his coffee was boiling after about twenty seconds. Not wanting to risk more burns, he just turned the machine off, left the cup there, and poured himself the dregs from the pot.

He was just sitting down at the kitchen table to drink his cup of disappointment when Mac came in through the backdoor, dressed in workout clothes clothes and drenched from what was clearly a hard run. He smiled brightly at Jack. "Morning!"

"Mornin', kid." Jack replied, grimacing as he took a sip of the cold coffee. It wasn't the first time he'd ever been let by having to drink cold coffee. Hell, he'd eaten the freeze dried stuff out of a packet and swallowed it with the dregs of canteen water that tasted more like purification tablets than anything else and been grateful for it. There was just something about being in a perfectly normal civilian situation that made bad coffee extra disappointing. "Didn't wanna wait for ole Jack to go for a run with ya, I see. Afraid I can kick your ass now that you've been back in civvies for so long."

Mac finished downing the water he'd retrieved from the fridge. Mac snickered and shook his head. "Not even in your wildest dreams, pal. Besides, I don't want to see you cry."

"Is that your way of calling me a sore loser?" Jack said, drinking more of the terrible cold coffee.

Mac contemplated Jack for a minute. Then he turned and started putting together a fresh pot of coffee. Jack hated cold coffee, but Mac had given up on sleep around three.

As Mac went through the motions of setting up the coffee maker to produce something Jack would find acceptable, he glanced over his shoulder at his partner. "It's my way of reminding you that elevating your pulse with an injury like that is a surefire way to be miserable. Nobody needs to count their heart rate because pain just informs them how fast it's going. You know I'm speaking from experience … which if the shoe was on the other foot, you'd be dying to remind me of."

Mac turned to hit start on the coffee maker, more to hide his smirk at Jack's fleeting sheepish expression that anything else. When he turned back, Jack was looking over his bandaged hand with a frown. "Probably right. Have a feeling the boss ain't gonna be happy I dumbassed myself into needing a few more days off than I planned."

Mac snickered. He stepped toward the table and winced slightly. "Hey, I'll be back in a few. I need to go walk a little more." Jack frowned. Mac explained, "Calf's cramped up. I didn't cool down enough and I don't want to pay for it later."

"How far did you pound the pavement this morning?" Jack asked, wondering just how far off the kid's fitness had fallen since coming home. Too far and he'd definitely have to time mentioning DXS a little further out than Patricia might care for.

"About thirteen miles, I think it is …" Mac frowned, trying to call up the map in his head.

"Thirteen miles! Jesus, dude, it's not even six thirty in the morning. What the hell are you running that far in what had to have mostly been the dark for?" Jack was vaguely incredulous. Running was, to his way of thinking a combination of conditioning and punishment, and the only way a civilian would put in that kind of distance was if they were mildly off their rocker.

Mac laughed, dropping into a stretch he thought might help, since just heading back out the door without answering would be the kind of rude he just wasn't programed for. "I went and got your rental car and returned it for you. I just did the key drop thing and ran back. Needed to get the miles in today anyway and you can't drive so …"

"You ran from town?"

Mac recognized that tone and felt his hackles go up a little. "Yeah. I'm training for a charity half in a couple weeks and I'm trying to PR … so I figured I'd just get my long run in and take care of your car at the same time."

"From town that takes twenty minutes to drive to. And it's not seven a.m."

"It takes twenty minutes to drive because it's all back roads. And I killed my last half PR this morning. I'm pretty sure I'm going to hit sub-ninety minutes. I hit an hour forty this morning and …"

Jack mentally calcluated the amount of time it would have taken to hike out to his car, drive it to town and then hit a personal record half marathon time and get back here to make him coffee. He gave Mac the sort of stern almost annoyed, but more concerned look that he always hid behind a slight smile. "You even go to bed last night, Mac?"

Mac drew himself up out of his stretch. One corner of his mouth quirked up, but Jack could read that it was irritation rather than a half smile. "Jack that's …"

He paused and sat down across from the older man. This time he managed to pull his expression into an agreeable sort of smile, like he thought Jack readopting his slight hovering tendencies that all guys on overwatch seemed to have for their assignments was just a funny old habit.

"Exactly none of your business, pal."

Jack looked slightly taken aback which almost made Mac laugh. After the massive boundary violation of showing up here without calling … okay, he'd called, but it hadn't been answered and the guy should have known Mac well enough after everything they'd been through together to know that meant he didn't want company … say nothing of just watching him for days … which Mac couldn't even begin to unpack … He wasn't about to let Jack pick up those old habits again.

Mac firmly told himself that he preferred being on his own. He definitely preferred not having to account to someone about his actions. And he didn't want to just cut Jack out of his life. He was a friend. One of the few Mac knew without a doubt really gave a damn about it.

But he had gotten by just fine without parents, thank you very much, and he'd enjoyed being an only child … if you didn't count Bozer … And he did, but that was easy because they'd chosen that relationship at a time when they'd both needed each other desperately. And Boze could go overprotective sibling in a heartbeat, but he'd known Mac well enough to know when to back off. Like Mac hadn't heard from Bozer in weeks. He frowned a little at that thought. He really should call him, see how the whole try out film school summer program thing was going … Jack was just giving him a hard look.

"I don't wanna be rude or piss you off, man, but I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told Miles. If I wanted a babysitter, I'd have reenlisted and gotten myself a new overwatch. Okay?"

The coffee maker beeped then, signaling a fresh pot and Jack got up with slow measured movements, concealing (he hoped) that he actually was kind of pissed off. He just poured himself a cup as best he could more or less one handed. Then he asked neutrally, "You want a cup?"

It was clearly killing him not to say more than that, Mac thought. He appreciated the effort. "Nah, man, I'm good, but thanks."

Jack sat back down. He read the thanks as having a double meaning that included not just the coffee but also the backing off. Still, some things needed saying. "I'm sorry I butted in here, bud …"

"But?" Mac asked, with a wry twist of his lips.

"But you've got friends who are worried about you bein' out here in the middle of God's Half Acre all on your own, not doin' anything productive with that ginormous brain of yours, and …"

Mac made a snap decision then. "Well, you guys will be thrilled to know that I'm working on packing this place up and making the move to the place in LA. It needs work, but it's paid off, and Boze and Penny … you remember those guys?" Jack just nodded. He'd met Bozer via video chat the same way he'd met Miles. Mac friend Penny had given him the silent treatment while he was in the Army, but apparently they were back on speaking terms. "Well, they're living in LA and … I know they wouldn't exactly be mad if we were all neighbors. In fact, Boze and I are probably gonna be roomates."

From the way Jack's face split into a grin, Mac was pretty sure he'd sold the idea as a plan that he'd had for more than fifteen seconds. "That's great, man. I mean, unless you'd had me being your neighbor too, because you know I'm in LA now, and I don't know if I can resist the urge to check up on my pet bomb nerd."

Mac wasn't exactly sure how he felt about moving back to where anyone knew him well, but it would solve his immediate problem of Miles and Jack conspiring to freaking supervise him without his consent. He could deal with LA problems in LA, he reasoned. He grinned at Jack. "There's even a really great back deck from which we could char cow. Or you know, goat, if we get feeling nostalgic for our time at the FOB."

Jack nodded, thinking that Mac had an 'up to something' look about him, but that this was as good as he was going to get.

"That sounds great, kid."


	5. Chapter 5

Mac bolted upright in bed, momentarily panicked and gasping. It took him a few moments to realize where he was. He wasn't used to his room in the LA house yet, and he'd grown so accustomed to living in a terrible chaotic mess that Bozer's obsessive cleaning of everything, including Mac's space, was still a little disorienting. Military-grade neatness and organization had stopped being a habit almost the minute he'd gotten off the plane a year and a half ago.

As his heart slowed and his breathing evened out, he glanced up, pleased to find his bedroom door still closed. Either he hadn't made a lot of noise as the result of this most recent dream, or Bozer was working. Mac couldn't remember which, and Mr. Lind kept changing Bozer's schedule anyway. Not that his friend had much else to do. He'd bounced from his film classes after a couple of weeks, saying they were stifling his creativity.

Mac kicked back the covers and rose to go take a shower, deciding that his nightmare had left him too sweaty to even enjoy a cup of coffee before he got cleaned up and changed. His head was pounding in too regular a rhythm to contemplate going for a run.

If he managed to get rid of the headache and go later, he'd just have to shower again. Like a lot of other LA residents, he took conserving water very seriously. But he wasn't worried about the double shower day, because his response to the summer water shortage was to construct a vapor condenser out on the back deck that fed into an extra tank on the side of the house. Bozer thought it was great. Mac was a moisture farmer, just like Luke in the beginning of _Star Wars_. Mac snickered at that as he stepped under the spray. He could always count on Boze, even when he wasn't around, to chase away the darkness that liked to make its home inside his head.

Hot water beating on his shoulders started to push away the worst of the headache that he knew was the result of restless, fractured sleep. He leaned against the wall of the shower. He was glad the Bozer that cheered him up this morning was a memory and not the real thing.

When he woke Bozer with a shout or muffled scream from his sleep, Bozer got next level freaked out and protective. Boze hated that Mac had seen combat. It scared the guy to death, actually. Mac did his best not to remind his best friend of the reason he hadn't been around for a while.

He danced around the subject partially because he hated to see Bozer upset, and partially because he had no interest in talking about it himself. Especially since Boze just wouldn't drop the subject of Mac needing to consider therapy or at least see somebody to get medication to help him sleep. The last thing Mac wanted was more rack time. The dreams were too freaking awful to want more of them.

At least he knew what triggered the most recent bout of them. The two guys he'd seen in the parking lot when he picked Bozer up from his movie club meeting at the mall had looked so much like the men he'd found out later were called Aarash and Tajj that for a moment he'd been right back in Balkh Province, searching desperately for the rest of his squad.

He was so sure it was them, he'd he'd gotten out of his new Jeep (the product of trading in his grandfather's truck and some of the life insurance money he'd inherited) and tried following them. He lost them after a few minutes in the crush of people exiting the movie theater. He was still waiting for Boze so he ran a couple of laps around the mall just to get the adrenaline dump and frustration down to manageable.

When he'd gone in to the food court to grab a lemonade after he talked himself down, he'd run into a couple of guys who resembled them, but not so much that he'd ever have mistaken them for the same people. He'd given a nervous sort of laugh under his breath. Some days it was easier to live with what he'd seen while he was deployed than others.

Now, Mac shook his head, turning off the shower and grabbing a towel. He wished he could say that was the first time such a thing had happened, but similar things had come up every time he'd been in LA. It hadn't happened up north so much. The dreams had, but never the surety that he'd seen one of the members of the Mazari lurking in some public place.

He wondered vaguely if it was the dry heat here in Los Angeles that reminded him enough of that place to trigger what had to be flashbacks. It had happened twice in the month and half since he'd moved here, into his grandfather's old house. That was kind of a lot, he told himself. _It'll get better_ , he thought stubbornly. _A lot of people who serve struggle with this stuff_.

He was just shrugging into his old MIT t-shirt when he heard the boisterous call of the morning bagel delivery. "Mac! Hey buddy! You up yet?"

 _That's right, it's Saturday_. Not working outside the house was starting to make the days blend into each other. He just didn't seem to be able to make himself go get some boring job; nor was he really able to think too much about what he might do to get a job that wouldn't be boring. He was just sort of in limbo.

"Mac!" came a louder shout.

 _Remind me why I gave him a key again_ , Mac grumbled to himself. "I'll be right out!" he called back loud enough to be heard through his door. He paused long enough to make his bed, a habit Bozer insisted would improve his sleep and how he felt about his day and then headed out to greet Jack and the inevitable giant bag of breakfast that was part of Jack's ongoing fatten-Mac-up campaign that was thus far both relentless and unsuccessful.

When he stepped up to the island in the kitchen where Jack was unpacking both bagels and donuts he grinned broadly at Jack's surprised expression. "Morning, Jack."

"You finally got a haircut!" Jack exclaimed with both surprise and clear approval.

Mac shook his head, grabbing them a couple of coffee mugs out of the dish drainer and fixing them both a coffee. "Yeah, well when you started singing that godawful George Thorogood song at the top of your lungs in The Burger Barn the other night, I thought maybe I should do something to spare myself future pain and suffering."

Jack laughed. "You know George Thorogood, but not Metallica when I sing it in the car?"

"I know that one because I looked it up, Jack. And what you were doing in the car was not singing," Mac teased, inspecting the current breakfast offerings Jack was spreading out on a couple of large plates.

"I will have you know I am the karaoke champion in …"

"Four states. So you keep saying, big guy," Mac chuckled, glancing back and forth between a poppy seed bagel and a Boston creme donut. He took the bagel and just started eating it with nothing on it. The carbs would be good. His head was starting to feel better and he wanted to do at least ten miles. He seemed to sleep better if he ran. He'd discovered the Hollywood Hills were a great place to think. "I'm pretty sure karaoke doesn't work that way, you know."

Jack sat down with his coffee and put his feet up in the next nearest chair, taking a huge bite out of a cream cheese loaded everything bagel. "Well, what would you know about karaoke anyway, kid? They don't let people your age into bars, do they? Aren't you young folks supposed to be in school or at the mall flirting with pretty girls or something."

Jack thought that had been pretty subtle. Just mention their were things people Mac's age could do that were healthy and normal, while teasing him just a little. But Mac's face pulled into an immediate frown. When he spoke it was with a distinct clipped hardness. "Don't start, Jack."

 _Okay. The kid had another rough night_. He was only that kind of touchy if it had been bad. Not that Mac ever confided in him about it, but Bozer had taken to informing Jack behind Mac's back. Bozer knew they'd served together and knew Jack had experiencing dealing reintegrating into civilian life. He just kept hoping that if Jack knew what was going on he could figure out some way to be helpful to Mac. Jack was around him enough again that he was back to being able to read him pretty well, too.

"Don't start what, bud?" Jack asked gently, keeping his voice friendly and low.

Mac blinked a couple of times, like the question surprised him. That was another concerning sign. Not much surprised the wunderkind (ha, he thought, I remembered the right word) and not much caught him off guard. He was clearly disconcerted that he'd read Jack's teasing as prodding, even if that was how Jack meant it. He was off his game enough that Jack's little bit of verbal misdirection was enough to slow him down. "About school and stuff, Jack," he answered, his voice less strident this time. "I have money from my grandfather. I can just take some time to figure stuff out, so that's what I want to do. I feel like you and Boze have been on my case a lot, I guess. I didn't mean to snap at you."

Jack shrugged and got up for more food, this time a huge glazed cruller. "It's alright kid, I was only teasin'," he lied. "But I can see why you might be a little defensive."

He sat back down and put his feet up again, taking in Mac's raised eyebrow. The kid wasn't going to offer anything. Jack stayed quiet for a minute, an interrogation technique that, at this point anyway, seemed to work well on Mac. After another few seconds passed, Mac asked, totally defensively, "Why would I be defensive about anything?"

Jack took another unconcerned bite and chewed it before answering. "Well, Boze and I have been kinda worried about you I guess. And since you don't wanna talk about what's goin' on with ya, maybe we've been trying too hard to get you talkin'."

Mac shook his head, setting aside the bagel that only had about three bites taken out of it. "Nothing is going on with me, Jack. That's why I get annoyed with you guys. There's nothing going on. I'm fine. Everything is totally fine, and you guys are just determined to see problems where there aren't any!"

Jack finished his donut and licked his fingers. There was desperation behind that denial. Maybe he could actually get the kid talking this morning. Best to make it look like this was the most casual social situation in the world and to pretend that Jack didn't feel exactly like Mac looked back when they'd met if he was disarming an IED he'd never seen the likes of before.

"Okay, bud. If you say so … But," his eyebrows climbed, sort of asking permission to go on and Mac sort of scowled at him, but didn't tell him to shut up, which he had the last couple of times they'd gotten this close to a real conversation about what had Mac on the ragged edge of scrawny and sleep-deprived. "I can tell you're off your feed, kid. Any of your friends who saw you get on the plane home from Afghanistan would think you were sick these days."

"Jack, I'm not," Mac began, but Jack interrupted.

"I didn't say that's what was happening." He paused, letting his eyes settle on Mac's. "But you know that even though you're running yourself into the ground everyday, it's not like it's improved your physical condition. Mostly because, to hear Boze tell it, you eat about enough to keep a kindergartner alive, but not a twenty-three year old guy trying to be an athlete."

Mac shrugged. He couldn't deny what Jack was saying. Not while making eye contact anyway. Most of his clothes were too big. And he knew it. It's not like he set out not to eat, or to over train. Just … running was the one thing that sometimes helped him sleep without dreaming. He just had to push himself to the point of exhaustion to make it happen. He couldn't say any of that though. He thought about it, but it stuck in his throat. Instead, he just said quietly, "I do eat."

As if to prove his point, he picked the bagel back up and took a bite out of it, chewing it with deliberation. It tasted like sand at the moment, but he managed to swallow the bite with a swig of coffee.

"At least on the weekends," Jack said with a good-natured eyebrow raise. "But, Mac, can I ask you something … and you can tell me to mind my own business if you want to …"

"What?" Mac asked, afraid he knew exactly what Jack was going to ask. And as he blinked and saw those guys from the mall behind his eyelids again, he wasn't sure he could just lie or brush off the question this morning. He hadn't slept in three days and this nightmare … the fire … the screams … the pain - and since when did you feel pain in a dream, huh? - It was starting to be more than he could take, more than he could carry.

Jack put his feet on the floor and leaned toward Mac, resting his arms on his thighs, clasping his hands, and looking up into Mac's face. He spoke with a tone that Mac found weirdly comforting given the context he'd become accustomed to hearing it in. It was the same tone Jack would use in the field to question him about what he needed for disarming IEDs or when he needed to give him information over comms that would keep them both alive. "How've you been sleeping, bud?"

Mac had already put down the bagel again, so he just wiped the crumbs from his fingers off on his jeans and then ran his hands over his face and through hair that was so much shorter he felt nearly naked, despite the fact that it was still nowhere near as short as he used to have to keep it for work. He'd liked the hair to hide behind. If it was still that long, he thought resentfully, Jack wouldn't have noticed the circles under his eyes or how drawn his cheeks had gotten just lately.

He pulled in a long breath, which he'd meant to let go as a long suffering sort of sigh, right before he put Jack off about having the discussion about his flashbacks ( _they're just flashbacks, Mac, nothing more, you've got to let this go and drop the paranoia, damn it_ ), But when he released the air it came out raggedly and he found he really needed to tell someone. And of all the someones he could tell, Jack was the only one who might understand, who might not just think he was crazy.

He couldn't look directly at Jack when he answered though. "Not worth a damn." He thought Jack might say something, jump in with a lecture about how he should have said something, or maybe about how he should have listened to Bozer who'd been hounding him to see a doctor about his sleep, but he didn't. Jack just gave him a little nod that said, 'go on'. "The dreams have been bad for a while. And they just keep getting worse."

He stopped then. Jack finally spoke. "That happens to a lot of us when we come home, bud. Usually it gets better." He stopped, considering whether or not to offer a suggestion. Mac's blue eyes were too shiny and stretched wide. The kid needed something. "Of course, usually it gets better because there're people who are trained to help us work through it, kid." Mac nodded slowly, not in agreement, but in acknowledgement that he was aware of the option. "A friend of mine runs a group for vets dealing with this stuff. I could introduce you," he offered.

Mac shook his head. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but couldn't quite articulate what he was thinking yet.

Jack tried again. "Or … And I'm just throwing out options if you want 'em kid … I could introduce you to my friend Sissy."

Mac cracked a smile at that. "Your massage therapist?"

Jack chuckled. He forgot that he'd mentioned Dr. Miller before. "Well, I maybe said that once or twice when I didn't want to mention the just 'therapist' part … You _have_ gotten kinda snarky about psychology a few times on me, bud."

"Psychology is a soft science," Mac said, and Jack was heartened to hear how totally like his old self Mac sounded at that moment.

Jack gave him a fond smile. "Good thing, too, since people are mostly soft."

Mac shook his head. That wasn't what he needed either. He wasn't sure exactly what he needed until he opened his mouth and blurted. "I don't want to go to therapy, Jack. I want to find …"

Then he stopped. This just sounded so crazy, but he knew what was really eating him wasn't the nightmares, wasn't the times he'd convinced himself he'd seen something when he knew he hadn't. He was sure, as certain as he was about the force of gravity, that the men he had seen around LA weren't just similar in appearance to people he'd seen in Afghanistan, but were the same men, or at least close relatives. He swallowed hard. Saying it out loud felt like standing on the edge of a cliff and losing your balance.

Jack prompted, "What do you need to find, bud?"

Finally Mac looked him in the eye again. "Jack, I think the Mazari are operating here in the States. I need to find them and stop them before they do anything like up near Kunduz here."

Jack sat back, looking Mac over. He was trying to decide if the kid was having a nervous breakdown or if he really knew what he was saying. Given his and Bozer's concerns over the last month, he considered either equally possible. He did knew that one of the first pieces of action Mac had seen in-country had been a fringe group of terrorists attacking an aid station near the border with Kunduz and leading up to the attack, the group had abducted a squad of guys on patrol and held them for five days.

Mac had managed to evade capture, but he'd survived on his own, injured and hunted on the outskirts of town, and somehow finally managed to spring his buddies and call in support. That was when his friend Miles had gotten his permanent ticket home.

The kid never talked about it and the only reason Jack knew was when he'd been assigned to be Mac's overwatch as part of his CIA cover (a convenient one since Jack had served fresh out of high school back in the day), he'd seen the kid's unredacted file.

That was all probably enough to have the souvenir of PTSD all on its own, even if it hadn't been followed up with Albert Pena's death and Mac's return home to watch his grandfather die (apparently just like his mother, according to Bozer, although Mac never talked about that either, never talked about why his father wasn't around, never talked about much of anything other than nerdy stuff that had nothing to do with his feelings).

But Mac didn't look like a guy suffering from any kind of breakdown, no matter how understandable one would have been. And he didn't look like a guy struggling to piece together the differences between reality and dreams, and suffering from his inability to do so. He just looked like a guy who was suffering. Damned if he was going to stand by and just watch that.

Instead of saying anything that Mac was expecting, like 'that's crazy' or 'you just need to get some sleep' or 'how about seeing the doctor Bozer wants to take you to', Jack just nodded slowly.

"Alright, kid. Tell me about it."


	6. Chapter 6

Mac sighed a little resentfully as he stepped out of the air conditioned building and into the sweltering parking lot. Jack's condition for helping him look into his conviction that the Mazari were operating on American soil had been that Mac at least meet his therapist. He'd done it because he needed Jack's help not because he thought therapy was actually right for him.

Then Dr. (please call me Sissy) Miller had somehow managed to get him to start talking. He managed not to just unload about his certainty that something bad was happening in LA. But he'd copped to the nightmares, the insomnia, the occasional flashbacks. He'd even told her a little about his mother's death, something he never, repeat never, talked about.

She'd just asked him a casual question about the rest of his family when the clock chimed the hour, signaling the end of the 'just go meet her' entire session Jack had oh so helpfully scheduled for him. Mac had been on his feet with his hand on the doorknob before the sound finished traveling through the air. She'd flashed a gentle smile and rose to shake his hand again, a gesture he was far too polite to just ignore to get out of there. She offered him her card and invited him to call.

He took it, said thank you, of course, and left, jamming the card into one of the pockets of his jacket and almost instinctively closing his fist around it, crumpling it up. When he got to the building's lobby, he took it out to throw it away. He looked at the little wad of paper for a minute, then just put it back into his pocket.

When Mac found his Jeep in the large crowded parking lot, he smirked and shook his head. He was unsurprised to find Jack just leaning against the driver's side door, arms folded, and doing a piss poor job of looking unconcerned.

"I thought we agreed you weren't going to check up on me this afternoon," Mac said, his expression conveying that he'd never believed Jack's assertion anyway. Jack was a check-up-on-you kind of guy. Half their unit would joke and call Jack 'Dad' and he was worse with Mac than anyone by the time Mac left.

Jack chuckled, unfolding his arms and spreading his hands. "This is me we're talkin about, kid." He stretched out a hand. "Gimme your keys. I'll drive you home."

Mac frowned. "Where's your car?"

Jack repeated his gimme gesture. "Already at your place. Boze dropped me off here on his way to work."

Mac huffed with irritation, but gave up his keys and went around to the passenger side. He sort of wanted to argue but he didn't really feel like focusing through rush hour traffic after his meeting with Sissy.

"So not only did you break your 'give Mac some space while he does the thing you're making him do' promise, you and Bozer are conspiring against me now?" It was said with a fair amount of humor, but there was a tinge if true annoyance there too.

Jack just climbed in, closed the door, and started the car. "How about we're conspiring for you?" Jack asked with his best almost apologetic eyebrow raise.

Mac just shook his head, buckled his seatbelt, and folded his arms across his chest. He could tell Jack kept glancing at him but Mac just turned stubbornly toward the window and tried to immerse himself in the scenery. LA was still more or less new to him and the more he observed it and stored information about it, the more comfortable he would be there.

After a few minutes of Jack fiddling with the radio before settling on the same metal station he always did when he was driving, Mac grumbled, "Do we seriously have to listen to this ode to the 80s hair band crap again?"

Mac didn't usually complain about the music. Jack figured he was being grouchy because he was a little raw from his first encounter with Sissy. That woman had an uncanny ability to get people to open up. Instead of saying any such thing, Jack turned up the radio a little.

"In my family we got a rule, kid. And it don't matter whose car it is. Driver picks the music."

Mac was at least facing in his direction now. "So I get no say in what's blaring in my face?"

Jack gave him a big grin. "Nope. Second part of the rule says shotgun shuts their cakehole. You wanna pick the music, you gotta drive."

Mac rolled his eyes. "I was planning on it until you showed up and carjacked me."

Jack laughed at Mac's little play on words. Mac almost never even cracked a smile when Jack made a bad pun or a lame joke. Mac's forays into word humor were few and far between but they were always pretty good. Jack didn't want to break it to the kid but for as much as he groaned about Jack's puns, the older man had the suspicion that someday there might just be a bunch of little Anguses running around devastated by a certain blond genius's dad joke game.

"That's probably fair in this case," Jack laughed, relinquishing the controls. "Put on whatever you want."

Mac's lips quirked up on one side. It was almost a smile. He scanned back and forth through some stations he'd gotten to like through listening on the long drives he took in the surrounding mountains. After a few more minutes, he turned the radio off.

He was back to looking out the window, Jack saw when he glanced over. He decided it was time to risk a direct question. "You okay there, bud?"

Mac nodded, then he glanced at Jack. "Yeah. Headache."

Jack reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small bottle of Advil, then passed it to Mac. Mac smirked. "You know you're getting old when you just carry around pain relievers."

Jack did his most over the top mock-offended face. "I will have you know that I am such a prime physical specimen I destroyed the entire rest of the team's times when he did the charity obstacle race last month and most of the other security guys are a lot closer to your age than mine." Mac cocked an eyebrow and looked between Jack and the bottle. "I brought those for you. First time I ever sat down with Sissy I found myself just unloading. About a lot of stuff. Cried until I puked."

"That's … " Mac trailed off for a second, and frowned a little. "I didn't," was all he said.

"No, of course you didn't. You bottled all your stuff up and gave yourself a headache."

He didn't add 'as usual'.

He didn't have to.

For a change Mac didn't argue, he just sighed and dry swallowed several pills. "Yeah."

Jack knew Mac didn't want to talk about it at all, so he decided to go at things indirectly. "Whadja think of that self cleaning aquarium set up Sissy has in the waiting room? First time I saw it, I thought of you."

Mac cracked a smile. "It's pretty cool. I'm pretty sure I could make a couple of adjustments to it to get it to work better as a planter though. Some of her herbs look like they're getting over watered."

Jack chuckled just a little. "Well I guess if you're using that big brain to think of how to fix up her aquarium, you didn't hate her."

Mac shook his head a little at Jack's not so subtly implied question. "I didn't hate her … I liked her … I mean, I guess. She's … sneaky."

Jack laughed out loud at that. "You mean like you're just sitting there minding your own business and she asks you what you think of her new throw pillows and you're suddenly telling her about breaking your nana's lamp when you were seven and blaming it on the dog?"

Mac snorted with a surprised laugh. He could picture little Jack Dalton almost exactly in that moment. "Yeah … kinda like that."

"But she always just makes whatever you're saying seem like it's totally okay," Jack said thoughtfully.

Mac shrugged. "She's very non-judgemental," he offered neutrally.

Jack glanced at him again. "You think you might go back?"

Mac had known Jack wouldn't be able to resist asking for long. "No … I … I don't know, Jack ... Maybe," he finally allowed.

'Maybe' was better than he thought he'd get out of the kid. "Alright. Good."

They rode along in silence for a little while. Finally, hoping maybe it would get Mac talking again, instead of just staring out the window rubbing his temples, Jack spoke, just as they made the turn on the the road that would take them into Mac's parking area. "You kept up your end of the bargain, kid. So I'll help you look into this whole Mazari thing."

Mac's face brightened a little as he turned back toward Jack. "Yeah?" The question came out almost like he wasn't sure Jack would keep his end of the arrangement. Mac often did that. Even though Jack had shown him time and again that he could count on him and that Jack Dalton always kept his word, Mac seemed to genuinely struggle to trust that idea. Someday, Jack would figure out why.

"'Course I will, bud. I told you if you started takin' care of yourself, I'd help you take care of business. You make a good start by seeing Sissy today, so I'll make a start doing some digging."

Mac frowned. He didn't care for the phrase 'make a start' much. That seemed like the sort of thing Jack would say to start subtly changing the deal; like he was going to have to barter for Jack's help by meeting his and Bozer's unreasonable demands about his physical and mental condition. He took a deep breath and he said so, only sounding about half as resentful as he felt about it.

Jack pulled the Jeep into Mac's parking area, put it in park, and turned in his seat to face the younger man. "Mac, look, I said I'll help you and I will. I would've helped you even if you hadn't gone to see Sissy today, because that's what friends do, man."

He paused at the look of almost furious betrayal that flitted across Mac's face at the revelation that he'd left his house and done something he hated the mere idea of for no reason.

Jack smiled softly. "The other thing friends do is make sure each other is okay, right? We did that pretty well over on the old goat farm, so I can't think of a good reason that we wouldn't now that we're practically neighbors."

Mac's eyes were searching Jack's face and Jack could feel that the kid was looking for some flaw in what Jack was saying, some indication that it was anything but genuine, and his body language had gotten more guarded, his arms wrapping around himself again, hands almost clasping his elbows. "Okay?" Mac finally answered, but it both sounded and felt more like a question. What it really meant was, what's this gonna cost me?

Jack gave him a look, familiar and foreign at the same time. Mac had gotten used to it in Afghanistan, but no one had looked at him with the same expression, or the same kindness in at least six months. The concern, not to mention the insight, made Mac squirm a little. "I'm not setting any conditions on my help, Mac. I need you to know that." He locked eyes with Mac until the kid nodded. "But …"

Oh, here we go, said Mac's eyeroll.

"But if you want to go after those guys …"

Mac frowned sharply. "What do you mean if I want to go after them? How do you ..?"

Jack sighed. "This is about Zwickey and O'Neill, right? Those guys who never made it out when the cavalry arrived?"

"How the hell do you know about ..?"

"Your file says you had a real hard time letting that go. The whole time you were at the base hospital after the good guys swept you up, you insisted those guys must still be alive and if they weren't somebody ought to pay for that fact. You brought it up to your CO more than once, after they turned you loose, too."

Mac's eyes were a little wide and he was staring at his hands again. "You've seen my service records?"

Jack shrugged. "Mighta had a peek before I metcha."

"God damn it. I knew you weren't just some grunt with a gun … What the hell were you really doing there, Jack?"

To take the heat off, Jack winked. "I could tell ya, but I'd have ta kill ya."

Jack had said almost exactly the same thing to Mac on at least one occasion in Afghanistan when Jack seemed … out of character for just a guy on overwatch. Mac sighed. "So say I do want to 'go after those guys' as you put it, what's that have to do with whether or not I object to you and Bozer motherhenning me to death?"

This was actually the perfect opening, so Jack took it. "Eighteen months ago, I woulda gone up against the whole zombie apocalypse with you, kid, and I'd have been sure you could hold your own."

Mac nodded, agreeing that of course he could hold his own in a zombie apocalypse. In face, if you found yourself in one, Mac was pretty sure he was the guy you'd want to have around. Before Mac could make a comment to that effect, Jack went on.

"But a lot's happened since then. And you've dropped a ton of weight, lost a lot of muscle, and you look a lot less like the cocky, level-headed kid I met back on the wrong side of Hell. You look exhausted, and like you're about one bad night away from just fallin' apart."

"I'm fine!"

"Yeah, Bozer tells me you've been sayin' that a lot. And I've heard you say it a few times. Thing is I don't think even you believe it, or you wouldn't have let me talk you into seeing Sissy today, even if you thought you could get something outta me by doin' it."

Mac's whole face was a frown at the moment, but he didn't say anything for a whole minute. Then he grumbled, "So what is it you want from me?"

"Mac, buddy, I don't want anything from you. I want you to take care of yourself and get back to being the guy who I'd take with me to the United States of Zombieland. Because … that's the guy you really wanna be anyway. So what I sort of am hoping for is you to want something from yourself." Jack wouldn't have thought it was possible, but Mac's frown deepened more. "For example, like wanting to eat decent meals since you live with about the world's best cook. And maybe start comin' to the gym with me a couple days a week. You could try to get some rest once in a while instead of staying up all night obsessing about this stuff with the Mazari, and even if you have a real bad dream you could just turn the light on and try to go back to sleep that way … Or you know, if that doesn't work, you could see the doc Bozer …"

"I'm not doing that, Jack. I'm not taking sleeping pills," His tone was sharp, but not angry.

"Alright, maybe that's a bridge too far at the moment, but how about that other stuff?" Jack raised a single eyebrow and smiled, an expression that always made whatever he was saying seem more reasonable.

Finally, Mac's expression relaxed a fraction of a centimeter. "Dinner, sleep, kicking your ass all over the gym? I guess I could see my way clear to agree to a little of that."

Jack clapped him on the shoulder. "Good man!" Mac grinned against his own will at the easy pleased affection he heard in Jack's voice. "How about we go inside and have dinner, grab a beer or two, and then maybe you head off to dreamland as a sign of good faith?"

"Dinner sure, but there's some research I've been doing about the history and movements of the Mazari that I really want to show …"

"Bud, slow your roll." The frown was back in a flash. "I'm sure your research is good, kid, but I can get us all kinds of intel on those bastards if you give me the weekend. I'll dig up everything the DOD knows about 'em and thensome."

"I thought you work at a think tank."

Jack grinned again. "Yeah, well, I know a guy."

Mac chuckled in spite of himself, but he was serious again a spare second later. "Alright, big guy, but just because you can use some of your freaky spook I could tell you but I'd have to kill you connections to get good information for us, that doesn't mean we shouldn't comb through what I've already found."

Jack gave him a very knowing look. "We will, bud. But do you and me both a favor and give it a rest for a couple days. Eat, sleep, take care of yourself a little. I got a long weekend," Jack said untruthfully.

Patty had laid on the pressure to make an offer to Mac and he'd told her he needed more time. She'd said, 'Fine, do what you need to. I'll call you if another mission requires your attention.' Weird, but Jack wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth at this point.

"Monday I'll introduce you to the company gym, because I can bring a guest any time I want. You'll like it. Since it is a think tank you're bound to meet some other skinny nerds who want to just go burn too many calories running around in the sunshine." Mac smiled a little at that. "And then we'll meet my friend who can pull together that intel I mentioned."

"Jack, I …"

"Look, if we're gonna do this …" Jack squeezed Mac's shoulder. "I need my partner back, bud."

Mac met his eye then and nodded slowly. Strangely, he knew exactly what Jack meant. "Okay. Yeah. It's a deal."


	7. Chapter 7

Jack more than kept his promise about helping Mac investigate the possibility of the Mazari operating in LA. Although he wound up having to do it around his work schedule, which was strange at best. Once Patricia realized Mac was more of a long term project if she was interested in hiring him, she pulled back on her lenience with Jack.

In his off time, he still regularly visited Mac and shared any piece of intel he could, meaning anything that wasn't classified (and a few things that were). They went out together to the places Mac was sure he'd seen familiar hostile faces and essentially staked them out. All they got out of that was a bunch of paper clip sculptures and a reestablishment of the easy banter they gotten to depend on in Afghanistan.

It also gave Jack a chance to work on Mac about coming to work with him. He knew the kid wanted to help people, that he hated being bored, and DXS could definitely use an out of the box thinker like Mac. Not to mention that he'd missed working with the kid. But Mac was hesitant to even work part-time. He was focused on fixing up his house, he said, although the projects were often disorganized or went unfinished until Bozer bugged his roomie about it.

That worried Jack a little, but his concern was somewhat assuaged by the fact that Mac had started seeing Sissy on a semi-regular basis. And it hadn't even taken an act of Congress; just Bozer pestering him relentlessly. Jack was also getting Mac to the gym with him three or four times a week, and had even gotten him to start doing some hand to hand sparring which seemed to be doing wonders for the kid's physical confidence. Mac was frequently dressed and ready for the gym trip when Jack came through the door. He was always ravenous afterward too and had dragged Jack to about every taco and burger joint in town and seemed prepared to eat his weight at all of them.

They hadn't made any progress in their Mazari investigation, but Mac seemed happier, much more like his old self. There was always something a little reserved about Mac, something that reminded Jack of a friend of his from when he was a kid (the boy in question had once gotten bitten by a neighborhood dog and while he was always still friendly to dogs after that, when he was around them he'd hang back a little and glance at the scar on his arm frequently), but his partner was back, in every important way Jack could measure. The kid looked a helluva lot better, too.

In the couple of months since Mac had agreed to start working out with Jack, he'd put on probably fifteen pounds. Mac knew Jack and Boze were happy about it. As he felt the eyes of the leggy blonde who'd just come into the gym travel over him, he couldn't say he was anything other than pleased with it, too.

"Hey, genius!" Jack snapped Mac back to reality. "You're supposed to be spotting for me."

"Sorry, Jack." Mac grinned sheepishly, and helped Jack get the weighted bar back on its rack. His head turned and his gaze briefly followed the young woman who gave him a very open, very inviting smile, before she headed into the fitness class room where some sort of very athletic looking martial arts class was getting started.

Jack sat up and toweled off his face. "I keep telling you there's perks to workin' here, kid. And Applied Sciences would love to have you."

Instead of ducking his head and saying he'd think about it like he had almost every other time Jack had brought it up, Mac grinned and tipped his head in the direction of the classroom across the gym. "What department does _she_ work in?"

Jack grinned in return. "That dangerously lovely lady is one of the very best tech nerds around the place. Computer geek extraordinaire apparently." His grin slipped into a smirk at Mac's expression. "Her name's Nancy, or Natalie or somethin'. You'd probably like the Krav Maga class." Jack stood up from the bench. "You wanna go meet her?"

Mac took a step back and almost tripped over his feet. "Um … no way … I mean … no thanks, Jack."

"Why not? She's pretty as hell and she was obviously interested, smile she gave you."

Mac shook his head. "I'm sure she was just being friendly, Jack. She's way out of my league."

Mac just headed toward one of the treadmills to put an end to the conversation, and so maybe Jack would miss how furiously he was blushing.

Jack watched the kid go, shaking his head. Mug like a movie star but without a lick of confidence to go with it. Jack hated that his friend thought so little of himself. But, the fact that Mac expressed interest in a woman, even if he couldn't work up the nerve to talk to her was the most 'this is the old Mac' moment Jack had seen yet. Jack's phone buzzed from the pocket of his shorts. He took it out and looked at it and shook his head.

"Hey, kid," Jack called out, leaving Mac the space he'd taken. Mac glanced over his shoulder. "I'm gonna hit the showers. I've gotta go file a hard copy I forgot to take care of upstairs before I left to come get you today."

"Sure!" Mac called out. "I'm just doing a couple of miles as a cool down anyway."

Mac continued running at what looked to Jack a helluva lot more like a sprint than a cool down.

As Jack exited the gym, Mac yelled across the room, "Wanna go get pizza after you finish up? I'm starving!"

Jack couldn't suppress his pleased expression at both Mac's dinner choice and the fact that the kid's appetite was still going strong. He'd admitted to another bout of pretty nasty nightmares on the way here, so Jack had wondered. "Sure, kid," he replied and headed out.

The rest of the gym was empty, since all the employees seemed to have filtered into the class. Lacking an audience, Mac jacked up the speed on the treadmill and increased the incline. He loved running hills, but he hadn't gone out for his usual run this morning because Jack had offered the gym when he texted him first thing and Mac was making a real effort to be sensible with how far he pushed himself.

He'd just fallen into a good rhythm with a heel strike he was happy with when he became aware of someone else entering the room. Sissy called that level of awareness hyper vigilance and said it was a trauma symptom.

Mac preferred to call it freaking paying attention and thought of it as more of a survival skill. She asked what he thought he needed something like that for now that he wasn't in a war zone. That was bait, and he didn't rise to it, just laughed lightly and said it was good for keeping him from getting hit by trucks when he went running.

Mac caught a faint whiff of perfume and heard the treadmill next to his turn on. He glanced over half hoping the pretty blond who'd smiled at him was as interested as Jack seemed to think she was and was blowing off her class. Instead, beside him was an older woman, very lean and a bit severe looking, with her dark hair pulled back tight and her gym clothes inspection-levels of neat and pressed.

Mac just gave a smile and slight nod, what he thought of as the gym etiquette face and refocused on his run. Just another mile, he promised his legs. The woman spoke as her feet started to churn on the belt next to him. "Evening."

"Hey," he replied, not wanting a conversation to get in the way of his pacing or breathing. He was trying to fully wear himself out so he could hopefully get some sleep later.

"Are you new here?" she asked, and even though she was keeping pace with him speed wise, her voice was perfectly level and conversational.

Mac's first impulse was to pretend he just didn't hear her and finish the last leg of this mile at his preferred pace. _Don't be rude_ , he admonished himself. One of the things he was working on was being more open to social situations. He'd spend months basically alone in that cabin and he had to admit he'd probably eaten so poorly because grocery shopping meant leaving the house and interacting with people.

He glanced at her, but she wasn't looking at him, was just staring straight ahead and running, her form perfect, her breath sure and even. "No, I'm a guest of one of the security guys. Jack Dalton," he finished hoping he wasn't going to have to go dig his guest pass to prove he was allowed to be here out of his bag in the locker room because he really just wanted to finish this run.

"Ah," she said, still not looking at him, so he looked away too, focusing on a point on the wall as a reminder to keep his head up even though he was starting to be legitimately fatigued. "How do you know Dalton?"

Mac suppressed an eye roll. Who the hell came to the gym to chat? Answering felt easier than saying he didn't feel like talking, so he replied simply, "We were in the Army together."

He was hoping that would be the end of the conversation; there'd maybe be the obligatory 'thank you for your service' which always made Mac feel vaguely uncomfortable for some reason and then he could finish his run in peace. But she didn't say anything for a moment. He glanced at the display and realized he was well into another mile. Might as well finish that, he thought, when she spoke again.

"What did you do in the Army?" she asked.

"My job," he said, much more snappishly than he'd meant to. He immediately apologized. "Sorry, I'm not much of a talker, especially not when my legs are on fire."

She glanced at him with a catlike smile. "Some might call that a valuable skill in its own right."

He frowned at her for a split second. "Sure … I guess," he said, and abruptly hit the 'End' button on the machine, and jogged to a stop as the belt slowed and did the same. "Nice chatting with you," he said, not meaning it, and not particularly sounding like he did.

She stopped her machine, too and stepped off it to face him. She was much closer to him than felt conversational. In fact it felt like she was being purposely intimidating for some reason. "You don't mean that at all."

Mac shrugged, glancing away for a second, then forcing himself to meet her gaze. "No. I don't. I don't really do small talk."

The Cheshire Cat expression was back. "I don't either unless I'm evaluating someone. I'm Patricia Thornton."

Mac felt his mouth drop open, just a little. Jack had mentioned his boss, more than once, and it was always with a little something like awe. He recovered quickly though and just stuck out his hand. "MacGyver," he supplied. "Please call me Mac."

She took his hand and gave it a firm shake. "You don't like to go by Angus?" she asked, sounding vaguely amused.

"Would you?" he returned with a sideways smile. Then he realized he hadn't offered his first name. "How do you know my name is Angus?"

She smiled at how quickly he'd gotten there. "Dalton talks about you often, and fondly. He very much wants you to come work here with us. He says a think tank is just a tank without a MacGyver, if I'm quoting accurately."

Mac smiled and shook his head. "Sounds like something Jack would say."

"I'm inclined to agree with him, Mac."

Mac made a face. "What kind of job would someone like me do at a think tank?"

This was the lack of ego Jack had mentioned, and that had been documented by Mac's therapist (whose files Patricia had no difficulty whatsoever laying her hands on). "Unless your service and academic records are exaggerating, just about whatever you like in Applied Sciences. And now that we've met, I may have one or two other areas in which you would be a good fit."

Mac put on his best polite smile. "Thank you very much for the offer, ma'am, but I really don't think I'm looking for a job at the moment. I just moved here and I have some things I'm working out so …"

"Just keep us in mind, Mac," she said pleasantly. "While I certainly believe you could offer our organization something with your unique skills set, there are things we could offer you as well."

She turned and smoothly exited the gym. She hadn't even stayed on the treadmill long enough to break a sweat. Mac realized suddenly that she'd come down here to talk to him. Why would the boss give a damn if some friend of one of her security guys took a part time job essentially fixing equipment in a part of her organization she probably never even visited?

He shrugged to himself and headed for the locker room. Weird. But then Jack was kind of a weird guy and he seemed to really like his job, so it stood to reason the place would be a little funky, too.

He ran into Jack almost immediately upon exiting the locker room. "Hey Jack. All done with your report thing?"

Jack looked a little cagey as he answered, "You bet, bud."

Mac smirked at him. Sometimes Jack could be pretty sneaky, but other times you could tell exactly what he was thinking. "You left so your boss could come in here and talk to me on her own, didn't you?"

Jack practically blushed. "Is I could tell ya but I'd hafta kill ya gonna get me out of this one?"

"Nope," Mac replied, but it was with a little laugh. "It does mean you're buying the damned beer though."

Jack grinned. "I don't mind bein' let off the hook with beer."

"I wasn't finished," Mac said, holding the door for Jack. "After you've had the three beers I know it takes for you to be incapable of bullshitting me, we are going to talk about just what's so great about the job here and exactly why you and even your boss seem so keen on me working here."

Jack grinned. Three beers wasn't even close to his 'no bullshit' threshold. "You got it kid."


	8. Chapter 8

Mac glanced up from what he was tinkering with and frowned at the clock across from his work space. It was only three o'clock. There was absolutely no reason he should be hearing Jack's voice drifting down the hall toward the lab where he worked.

For one thing, he'd forbidden Jack from coming to retrieve him for meals two weeks ago, because after one week working here, some of the other employees of the Applied Sciences Division had started giving him shit about it. Not that he cared necessarily. It was good natured enough teasing. Just Jack playing the bigger cooler older brother bugged him sometimes.

For another, Jack was supposed to be out of town on some important security detail or other and Mac hadn't expected to see him until at least lunch time on Monday. He'd agreed to meet Jack in the cafeteria then.

Jack acknowledged work didn't always let you take a break at a regular time, but his concession to Mac's insistence he stay out of the lab had been that Mac promise to go the the cafeteria and eat everyday, whether Jack was there or not. Mac knew if Jack was around he'd have to go. But he hadn't gone today. If Jack was just randomly home early, Mac thought to himself, he better not be coming down to the lab to chew him out because he caught wind of Mac's absence in the cafeteria. Although, Mac would not put it past him.

Mac put down the screwdriver he'd been using on the compact GPS device he was repairing and prepared to give Jack his practiced, "I don't come bother you at the range or the training center so don't come down here and break stuff," speech.

When Jack stepped tentatively through the door, Mac's almost-rant died on his lips. Jack looked like he'd taken up illegal bare knuckles Fight Club style boxing and his arm was strapped across his chest in a heavy black sling.

"Jack, what happened?" Mac asked, hurrying around the table and sliding the wheeled office chair he himself almost never used behind Jack so he could sit.

Jack gave an abbreviated nod of thanks and sunk down into the seat. "Thanks, bud."

Mac waited for a minute. When Jack didn't just offer an explanation in response to Mac's concern, the young man tried a different tactic. "Rough day at the office?" was delivered with a wry smirk.

Jack grinned in return. "Rougher than some." He paused. "I took a spill on some loose gravel while the team I was with was moving some sensitive equipment. More focused on them than on me I guess."

"How bad is it?" Mac asked. Jack hated missing work. He often gave Mac a hard time over not slowing down long enough to take care of himself, but Mac thought Jack was a hundred times worse.

Jack shrugged with his good shoulder, but still winced at the pull on the other side. "Not so bad. Shoulda been payin' attention and it never woulda happened. … Anyhow, I'm down here because the boss has bounced me for a couple of days or so … And I'm not supposed to drive …"

"Well, yeah, you're in a sling," Mac replied.

"That and I've maybe taken some don't-operate-heavy-machinery stuff," Jack said, and this time Mac could hear the slightly lazy drawl Jack picked up if he was either really tired or a little medicated.

Mac looked at the clock again. He was supposed to work for a couple more hours, but if Jack had taken pain killers, he'd done more than 'taken a little spill'. Mac wondered exactly what was going on with him. "You need me to drive you?"

"Wouldja mind?" Jack asked. "I sort of wanted to talk about that thing we've been working on anyway, and Patty said to get whoever I wanted to get me outta here sooner rather than later, so …"

Mac was already putting his project away.

"I don't mind at all," he answered, slipping into his jacket.

He wouldn't have necessarily been in a hurry to leave because he'd not only figured out what was wrong with that backpack GPS, but he thought maybe he'd figured out how to change the casing so they wouldn't bust like that again, but they'd gotten nowhere fast looking into the Mazari, either in the US or in Afghanistan and the fact that Jack mentioned it at all at work, even in the low key way he'd done so, had Mac's heart beating a little faster.

After sitting in traffic for about twenty minutes, listening to Jack mess up the words to just about every song that came on the radio, it became increasingly clear to Mac that Jack had maybe had something slightly stronger than the slightly souped up Tylenol that was usually dispensed for the sorts of bumps and bruises the security guys always seemed to manage to come home with. Mac decided to confirm that suspicion with a question.

"Since when do you call Director Thornton Patty?"

Jack's head snapped in Mac's direction, an expression of mild horror on his face. "I would never call Patricia Thornton Patty in a million years. I like all my parts right where God put 'em."

Mac snickered. "You called her Patty this afternoon. You came into the lab and said Patty was sending you home."

Jack paled visibly, which was saying something because Mac already thought Jack looked like crap. "Shit. I hope I didn't say it to her face."

Mac felt a little bad for him. Thornton was a formidable person. He'd never met a Drill Sergeant who could inspire silence even with shouting quite like Thornton could with a quiet word. And Mac knew how to make an instructor yell. Sometimes he just couldn't quite keep his mouth shut. Charmingly impulsive was what Bozer's mom used to call it. Private Pain in the Ass was the first thing he'd ever been called by someone who out-ranked him. The nicknames hadn't improved from there.

Mac reached out and gave Jack a commiserating pat on the shoulder. "I'm sure that even if you did, she'll understand, Jack. Nobody filters what they're saying all that well on pain meds."

"Except you," Jack said, almost disapprovingly.

Mac smirked and refocused on driving. Traffic was finally moving again. He knew Jack had tried to get him to open up about his life back in Afghanistan, and he'd tried especially hard over one Christmas when Mac had been pretty banged up. Even not entirely in command of all his faculties, Mac had no intention of talking about his past, even with his partner. He didn't even talk about it with Bozer or Penny who both knew most of the details. He'd wound up suggesting a Die Hard marathon to get Jack off his back. Of course, he'd also found that he really liked the franchise. What bomb nerd wouldn't? Stuff was always blowing up in Bruce Willis movies. And he had to admit, Jack's running commentary was oddly soothing at the time, a pleasant distraction from the pain he'd been in from a piece of shrapnel tearing up his arm and torso pretty badly. "Yeah, well, some of us like the sound of our own voices more than others."

Jack gave him a half-hearted smack on the arm. Then he couldn't help his slightly dopey grin. "If you sounded like me you'd talk all the time, too."

Mac shook his head. "Maybe so," Mac said agreeably. "But you're officially too doped up to go stay home alone. You're crashing at my place."

Mac changed lanes without waiting for a response.

"Mac, I'm totally fine … It's not even that … What was I saying?"

"That you're totally fine," Mac smirked. "Let's pretend that's true and say I just want some company because Boze took off for that film festival thing in Pasadena."

Jack nodded thoughtfully. "Does that mean I can have Bozer's bed instead of your godawful couch?"

"Yes, it does. I'm not letting you sleep on the couch all banged up anyway, man."

Then Mac mumbled under his breath, "Took a spill my ass."

Mac decided if Jack could play master interrogator every time he thought Mac was being too tight lipped (which was basically always, Mac thought ruefully), turnabout was fair play. When they got back to Mac's place, Mac offered to fix dinner, but Jack turned him down, saying he was going to just take his prescriptions and go crash.

Then Mac offered a Die Hard marathon, but Jack shook his head, looking genuinely beat and like maybe remembering to take whatever the infirmary had sent him home with was more pain induced than Jack being responsible.

"Alright, pal, get some sleep," Mac said, trying to decide if he still wanted to bother fixing dinner or just eat a protein bar and lay on the couch, letting the TV lull him into fractured sleep. As Jack faded into Bozer's bedroom, Mac decided he'd better find something in the fridge. He felt better when he ate real food and he knew it. But self-care that was anything like focused was sort of new to him, and if it weren't for his therapist, he knew no amount of Jack and Bozer fussing at him could have gotten him to step back from his own behavior and see it.

When he opened the fridge he found stacks of neatly labeled containers for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next several days. A note was stuck to the front of one.

"These all better be gone when I get back, Roomie. Don't make me call Mom and get her to yell at you." Bozer didn't need to sign his note but he did, with a sketched frowning face that was pointing up at the nearest container. He took the note off to throw it away, but saw there was more on the back. "P.S. There's some up in the freezer too in case Jack shows up to keep you company. I know he's out of town, but you know how he is."

Mac tossed the note, but did heat up the chicken alfredo with asparagus that Bozer had left him for dinner. He ate it quickly and hand washed the container. Then he changed into sweats and a t-shirt and stretched out on the couch like he'd been planning when he was at work, assuming he'd be alone in the house. He didn't sleep well in the quiet. If Boze wasn't home he usually crashed on their lumpy hard couch with at least one lamp and the television on. It made it easier to orient himself if he woke up from a nightmare.

Sometime during the night it became apparent that his plan was inadequate to keep dreams of the Mazari at bay because his eyes popped open to Jack squatting down beside the couch shaking his shoulder gently. Still unsure of where he was or whose hands were on him, Mac bolted upright, almost scrambling up into one corner of the couch before he was fully awake. After a moment, his eyes started to focus and he realized he was home and the person who had been touching him was Jack. "Hey." Jack's eyes were searching his face with real concern. "I didn't take a swing at you or anything did I?" Mac asked, already feeling himself flush with embarrassment at having clearly woken up Jack from a closed door and hallway away.

Jack smiled. "Not a good one anyway, kid. You okay?"

Mac scrubbed his hands over his face. "I think so. Now anyway. Thanks for waking me up."

"Anytime, bud. You gonna be able to go back to sleep?"

Mac shrugged. "I'll give it a try anyway. I've gotta work tomorrow … today," he amended, glancing at the clock. "Go back to bed, man. I'm good."

Jack stood with a groan. No point in arguing once Mac used that tone. It said unequivocally he wasn't going to talk about whatever had him hollering like someone was trying to kill him in his sleep, probably not even with Sissy. "Alright, bud, but if you need me, you know where to find me."

Mac nodded and Jack turned to head back down the hall. Mac finally noticed Jack was wearing a sort of oversized muscle shirt and through the large arm holes he could see that Jack's shoulder was bandaged front and back. "Jack," he called, stopping the older man, who turned back toward him then. "That doesn't look like a scrape from a little spill. What really happened to you?"

Jack smirked. "I could tell ya but I'd hafta kill ya," he teased.

Mac's eyebrows went up. "You're not getting off that easy, Jack. I'm serious."

The smirk morphed into a crooked grin. Kid was too smart for his own damned good. "It's a scrape just like I said more or less. Just can't tell you what I got scraped with."

Mac frowned, remembering a turn of phrase Jack and some of the other guys he ran with used in Afghanistan. A bullet wound could be jokingly referred to as a scrape, or a skinned knee, or hardly a mosquito bite if one of them got whiny about a non-critical injury. Mac had the sudden certainty that Jack was currently suffering from just that sort of scrape. Not that he seemed likely to say so in anything more than the most indirect manner.

"You better take care of it," he said, instead of pressing.

"I will, brother, I will." He winked. "Always do."

That was the last Mac saw of Jack until he got home from work in the evening. He hadn't been able to get back to sleep, so he'd gone for an insanely long run, come home to shower and change, and then, hearing Jack's snoring from Bozer's room, he'd just gone in early. He hadn't left until Director Thornton herself stuck her head in the lab to say she knew whose key code was used when and offered a chilly reminder that lab techs, no matter how talented, did not get paid overtime.

When Mac got home it was with bags full of takeout and a twelve pack of Jack's favorite beer. He expected to find Jack out on the back deck, hopefully dutifully trussed up in his sling, resting in one of the Adirondak chairs. Instead, Mac found Jack at the kitchen counter with papers, maps, and pictures spread everywhere. "Hey, Mac," Jack said distractedly. "I got some stuff for you to look at when you put that stuff away."

"Something that's more important to you than burgers and beer?" Mac asked. Jack teased Mac for his enthusiasms, but Mac thought Jack could go off the deep end for days after watching a rerun of the X-files.

"Um, yeah, bud, a little bit." Jack came over and took the bags away from Mac. "Why dontcha have a seat here for a minute, kid."

Mac frowned. "What for?"

Jack just raised his eyebrows in a familiar I-am-about-to-pull-rank-on-you expression, so Mac just pulled up the nearest stool and sat down near where Jack had been going over papers on the counter. "That buddy of mine I told you about that's been doing the digging for us?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he works for DHS."

"Do I know this buddy?" Mac asked, feeling strangely detached.

Jack nodded, "You might." He paused. "Anyway, he might have finally found something."

"Okay?" Mac replied, almost unable to believe that might be true.

Jack picked up a glossy photo and held it out. "You know this guy?"

Mac swallowed hard and nodded.

There were several familiar faces in the photograph, or at least he thought they might be familiar. But one was unmistakable. It was Ron O'Neill, the guy who'd been sitting in front of him in the transport when it had gotten hit with an RPG all those years ago.


	9. Chapter 9

"Mac … Mac, buddy, you okay? C'mon, kid, talk to me."

Mac could hear Jack. It wasn't easy over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, but he could hear him. Jack was being kind of loud. All Mac knew at the moment was that he couldn't deal with loud, couldn't deal with talking even if it was quiet, and if he didn't get outside and breathe some fresh air he was going to pass out.

As it was, as he stumbled out onto the deck, some of Jack's words penetrated. They amounted to hey, kid, why don't you sit down, tell me what's going on, etc. etc. …

Mac leaned against the porch railing, images of the moments before the rocket propelled grenade had hit their truck, then the stink of the explosion, the pain, blood, the noise … screaming, shouting.

Mac leaned over the railing and was sick. It was a completely involuntary action and he was grateful his backyard just looked out on trees and not more neighbors. He knew he sunk down onto the floorboards, knew he rested his forehead against the lower railing because he just couldn't stand to hold it up at the moment, knew one of his hands was gripping that railing for dear life, but he couldn't catch his breath. Reality seemed to fall away.

He was nineteen, wounded, terrified, and pursued. He was back there. Completely. Then he pulled in a few ragged breaths that felt like choking on smoke, and the smells of …

He slowly became aware of Jack's hand on his shoulder, of the older man sitting next to him on the boards of the deck. Next he could hear Jack's voice, lower and quieter than it usually was, not unlike he remembered it from right before Christmas the year they'd met, waiting for evac and trying to distract him from how roughed up he was while also keeping him from freaking out from the sheer amount of blood that had been all over him.

His brow creased, the second memory of getting about blown to Hell should have made the earlier memory worse, but it didn't. It reminded him that it was all over. Because he'd gotten out. Both times. The second time had just been easier. Jack had been on overwatch when it happened and had the bad guys tagged and the dustoff on its way almost before Mac had processed that he'd been hurt.

He became aware of Jack holding out a water bottle and he took it, suddenly overcome with a thirst he'd only ever known if Afghanistan. He'd grown up in California, and the heat, even up north, could be downright oppressive. And he'd always been active, even as a kid, running insane distances in even the hottest weather, just as a way to manage his own restlessness. But never had he known thirst from it quite like even an uneventful day in that place had inspired. He thought maybe it was the shit everyone called moon dust that coated virtually everything there.

He tipped up the water bottle and started draining it. Jack said something, and Mac just held up his hand to silence him. He wasn't quite processing Jack's words, but he knew the gist of the tone - slow down, take it easy. But he couldn't, not at the moment.

When the water bottle was empty he finally managed to meet Jack's eyes. "I'm alright."

He started to climb to his feet. Jack's hand on his shoulder stopped him briefly. "Whoa, man, slow down, take it easy, bud."

Mac almost smiled at that. He'd been right. Even when he wasn't really hearing Jack he'd been hearing him, after a fashion. "I'm fine, Jack. It was just a surprise, seeing him. I … I'm okay though."

Mac shook off Jack's hand and finished getting to his his feet, striding inside to hide just how damned shaky his legs felt at the moment. He was leaning into the fridge to get out another bottle of water when Jack joined him, moving slowly and watching him carefully like he was an animal Jack was intent on taming that he had a sneaking suspicion would bolt at any sudden moves.

"Want one?" he asked, pleased at how level his voice sounded now.

"I'm all set, Mac, but thanks," Jack answered carefully.

Mac gave him an elaborate eye roll, that he didn't want to acknowledge pained his now pounding head. "Jack, don't start doing that thing."

"What thing?" Jack asked innocently.

"That I'm your overwatch thing you do. I'm good. It was a shock." Mac was going to totally brush off his reaction, but he found he needed to sit for a minute to do it.

He pulled a stool up to the counter where he'd left the beer and take out a few minutes ago and cracked one open as he took a deliberately casual seat. This time when he held out a bottle of what he was having, Jack took it, opening his as well and sitting down on the nearest stool while still trying not to crowd Mac. Jack didn't say anything, just kept looking at him in that way that he had that Mac always seemed to interpret as him needing to explain something, and which he seemed to always do, even when he didn't particularly feel like explaining.

"That's O'Neill, um Ron, his first name was. We called him Tallahassee … Not because he was from Florida … Zombieland just came out when he got to the base and he sorta looked like Woody Harrelson so … new crew, new nickname … You know how that is."

"I do," Jack nodded. "Gotta admit your old unit's nickname for ya was a lot nicer than the one I saddled you with at the FOB, kid. Still kinda sorry about that."

Mac managed a smile. "Angus has resulted in a lot worse things than somebody thinking it was a stupid hamburger name, pal. I did attend middle school once upon a time."

"High school couldn't have been much fun either," Jack said, prodding Mac gently to keep talking in any way about his past in the less tense tone he was using now.

"Ah, man, by the time I got to highschool, kids had much better things to give me shit about than my parent's weird taste in names."

"Like what?"

"Like nothing I'm gonna talk about, that's what," Mac said with another small smile, but a flush was creeping into his cheeks. He welcomed it.

Even the worst bullying he'd experienced as a kid felt so much easier, so much more normal than what he'd been thinking about when he'd seen O'Neill's face in that picture, older, certainly, in a way that Mac's just wasn't, but then Tallahassee had been a Sargeant back then, older than him anyway.

O'Neill had been assumed KIA just like four of the other guys in their eight man patrol. Mac had insisted he wasn't, insisted he'd seen him on the Mazari compound when the cavalry had arrived, but no one had listened. And now the guy was in LA, with at least one other familiar face from that compound - not a friendly one - and wearing a cocky smirk in the picture of him accepting a suitcase from another man, whose face wasn't visible in the picture.

Mac found he could keep his voice level while he spoke about it now. "So that guy is supposed to be dead. And he's supposed to be one of us. And there he is alive and with somebody who isn't one of the good guys, because I recognize him, too. I didn't know his name though and …" He trailed off. He was rambling. "It was like seeing a ghost. But I'm good now, Jack, honestly."

"You sure?" Jack asked with real concern.

"Yeah. What does your friend have to say about all this?"

0-0-0-0

"Here, you look like you need another one," Jay, one of the other techs, said as he passed Mac a cup of coffee from the break room.

"Thanks, man," Mac said, taking the cup gratefully.

"Too much fun, or not enough?" The lanky lab geek asked, with a hint of jealousy that was entirely good natured. Mac was by far the best looking, most athletic guy that worked in this corner of Applied Sciences, the rest of the crew having a much more intellectual aspect.

They assumed when Mac came in wrecked it was because he'd partied the night before. Mac didn't bother disabusing them of that notion. Jay, however, had also gotten to know Mac a little in the last week or so, and his military service had come up.

Jay's older brother was a Marine. He knew the look, so he figured Mac's dark circles just as likely had an unpleasant cause as a pleasant one, With his current lunch partner looking as rough around the edges as he did, he figured he should at least ask, at least give him the chance to talk if he wanted.

Mac took a very necessary swig of his fourth large coffee of the day and rolled his eyes a little. He liked Jay, liked all of his co-workers here to be honest, but he sort of regretted letting his history with Jack and the Army slip over lunch last week when Jack was out because Jay had definitely taken that as a friendship cue and Mac wasn't quite ready for more than casual acquaintances.

Mac put on his best joking grin, although he could see from Jay's expression that it was probably a little wan. He wasn't about to tell the man that he hadn't slept in two days; the nightmares had been epic when he'd dozed off. The incident with the Mazari, Pena's death, getting blown all to Hell after he'd met Jack, hell even his mother's death, then his grandfather's.

If he wasn't going to admit it to Jack or Bozer, he sure as Hell wasn't going to tell the guy he only ate lunch with about every third day and had only known for about a month. Still, he stuck to the first answer that popped into his head at Jay's casual question. "Little of both."

Jay nodded like he had any idea what that meant. "Been there," he said to have something to say. He wasn't all that great at small talk, and clearly Mac was worse. On days where he looked like it was exam week in year five of an engineering program anyway.

Mac was sitting at their work area's one computer, working on a report about what he'd done to repair a backpack GPS and what he needed to outfit the other fifteen units the organization had at the ready for security and other various teams that actually got to leave the building. Jay headed back over toward the lab table where he'd been setting up a materials test for a new fire resistant suit their division was working on. "Hey, when I finish this run through, you wanna go grab some lunch?"

Mac glanced up from where he'd already returned to staring at the screen again. "I don't know, Jay. I'm not … I had a big breakfast," he finished untruthfully.

Jay glanced at the clock. "It's getting kind of late. Aren't you supposed to meet Dalton down there?" he asked, not looking at Mac and being careful to keep his tone from even approaching the teasing he'd heard some of the other techs let Mac in for. He'd gotten crap about his big brother being protective when he was younger and he hadn't appreciated it. Mac couldn't help it if the guy who'd decided to appoint himself big brother status wasn't biological.

Mac shrugged. "I'll text him," Mac said, turning his full attention back to his work. Jay got the distinct impression that all subjects were closed then.

He headed back over to the lab table to start the test he had set up with the new material and one of the bunsen burners Mac had juiced up for the purpose of materials testing. The standard units got decently hot. Mac's version was a crazy almost white flame. It was a pretty ingenious mix of engineering a new valve for the unit and mixing a combination of gases. "Hey, Mac!" he called out, donning his safety goggles. "You might want to relocate to the computer lab. This is gonna stink to high heaven … And that's if I don't set off the sprinklers."

"Mmmm," Mac acknowledged vaguely. "I'm good."

Jay shook his head and put the material into the crucible over the ring stand and turned up the heat. His nose wrinkled after only a few minutes. He turned up the hood fan, hoping the god awful burnt rubber smell wouldn't permeate the whole floor. The computer people who shared this level gave the lab staff endless crap about how often they stunk everything up. He heard a noise from behind him, something like a cough, but he was focused on observing his experiment.

Suddenly, the small piece of material started sparking and then burst into flames, billowing smoke that Jay was sure would be talked of for weeks. As he calmly turned off the gas valve and grabbed the fire extinguisher he heard a clattering noise, but didn't turn. He was intent on putting out the fire before the suppression system kicked on. When he finally turned, Mac's chair was overturned and his companion was gone.

He cleaned up the mess slowly and methodically. He had the lab back in order about fifteen minutes later, including righting Mac's chair. He'd just pushed it in at the work station when Mac came back through the door. He looked pale, his expression was pinched, and his hair was damp around the edges, probably from splashing water on his face.

"Smell get to you?" Jay asked in sympathy. It was a terrible stench, but he'd run the last three rounds of tests over the previous two months, so he was almost used to it by now.

Mac ran a hand through his hair. "Um … yeah. I guess I wasn't feeling all the great anyway, but … um … that put it over the top … What's the procedure for leaving early? Like I didn't even read the policy about sick time. I literally never use that kind of thing."

"You do look pretty green." Jay tipped his chin at the door. "Just get out of here, man. I'm the senior tech. I'll take care of the details for you."

"Thanks, man," Mac said quietly, already out the door. The speed with which he was leaving told Jay that the guy really wasn't feeling well at all. Before setting up the next test, he wiped down all the communal surfaces with disinfectant. Better safe than sorry, he thought.

Caught up in what he was doing, Jay never noticed the lunch hour come and go. He'd just put out the fire from the latest sample when a familiar drawl broke into his field of concentration. "Where you hidin' Mac there, Harkins?"

Jay put down the fire extinguisher and took off his safety goggles. "Not hiding him anywhere, Mr. Dalton. He went home sick."

"Mac?" Jack asked with disbelief. "He never uses sick time. Barely willing to miss the job when it was an order."  
Jay noted with amusement the crease in Jack's brow that said sick time was something he thought Mac should have used before but never had.

"Yeah, well, he didn't look so hot, then I stunk up the lab. He took off …" Jay glanced at the clock, "About a half hour or so ago I guess. He was in a real hurry to get out of here by then. Probably caught the stomach thing that's been going around Accounting." Jay shrugged, and turned back toward his work, since Jack had already taken off down the hall, fishing out his phone.

Mac didn't answer. In fact, the speed it went to voicemail said Mac had turned his phone off.

Jack felt a strange nagging feeling building in his chest that he didn't know what to do with. He was not a guy who got emotional like that over something like a friend blowing him off for lunch. He freely admitted to caring for Mac, called him brother completely unironically, meant it completely, but he didn't normally feel this sort of protective surge of emotions when it came to his former bomb nerd.

The last time he remembered feeling anything like this, he'd discovered his younger sister was being bullied at school by the one guy Jack had always been afraid to go toe to toe with. He'd done it, gone toe to toe with the guy, scared him too apparently. That had been the first time he'd ever really lost his temper and, as Mac liked to put it 'Hulked out'.

He felt a little like that now. Which was silly. Dude went home sick. So what? Except for a sixth sense that Mac didn't believe in, one that had kept him alive more than once, told him that something more than the stomach flu was going on. And he didn't like it one bit. He shot a text to Thornton and headed for the parking garage for his car.

By the time he got out of the parking lot, he found himself driving more aggressively than the situation probably called for and at a speed that put him in serious danger of drawing attention from law enforcement.

Fortunately, it didn't take him long to find where that skinny bomb nerd had gotten to.

In a pulloff, only about ten minutes from Mac's house, Jack saw Mac's distinctive orange Jeep, all alone in the rest area. Without signalling, Jack pulled in and broke hard, throwing his car into park and getting out, half convinced he'd find his partner slumped behind the wheel, covered in blood, the way he had been the week before that first Christmas in Afghanistan.

Instead the Jeep was empty, except for Mac's phone on the passenger seat.

"Mac!" Jack called loudly. "Yo, Mac!"

Nothing.

He looked apprehensively toward the trees. It would be so like Mac to get sick and then decide a freaking ten mile hike in the woods was just the goddamned thing he needed to sort himself out. Jack huffed a frustrated sigh, more because he felt like he should be frustrated instead of freaked out than because he felt it. He tried one last time. "Mac!"

When he was answered with quiet he cursed under his breath and prepared to go looking on the hiking trail the really began a short distance from the road. He was almost to the tree line when he heard the almost panicked gasp.

Jack spun around, lightning quick.

Mac was sitting on the ground in the shade on the passenger side of his Jeep, leaning against the side of the vehicle. His arms were wrapped around his knees, which were pulled tightly to his chest. His head was resting on his knees, hair a tousled mess. Jack felt his stomach drop a little when he realized Mac was rocking ever so slightly.

"Mac?" he said tentatively. Mac flinched but didn't lift his head.

Jack's immediate impulse was to run over to the kid and shake him a little, but he forced himself to slow down and approach quietly, carefully. "Mac, buddy, it's me. It's Jack." He didn't know why he felt the need to reassure the younger man of that, but he did. Mac hugged his own legs harder, but didn't flinch this time.

Jack took that as a positive sign and sat down on the ground next to him, a few feet away. He winced a little when he heard just how ragged and strained Mac's breathing sounded. He suspected if he'd shown up a few minutes earlier he'd have caught the kid in a full-blown panic attack at the lips turning blue from not breathing properly stage. Jack vaguely wondered if the kid had gotten it under control through that ridiculous but often useful stubborn streak of his, or if he'd made himself pass out and that's what had leveled things off.

"You hear me, kid? It's Jack."

"Mmmmm," finally came through Mac's arms.

"Whatcha doin' out here, man?" Jack asked after a few more minutes passed.

"Mmmmmnnnnnn."

"Was that an I don't know, or are you turning into a mosquito?" Jack asked, managing to put some familiar teasing into his tone, despite just how weird and, let's face it, scary, it was to see 'Mr. Butter Wouldn't Melt In His Mouth while defusing a bomb big enough to blow up a whole village' basically a puddle on the ground.

He was rewarded with a sniff that might have been a chuckle. Then after another minute, Mac lifted his head, but not enough for Jack to see his face. "Can't turn into a mosquito. I barely like rare steak."

Jack edged closer to Mac. "Good. Ya had me worried for a minute." He paused, then carefully reached out and put a hand on Mac's shoulder. He was pleased Mac didn't pull away, in fact, Mac actually leaned into his touch just a fraction. "You okay?"

This time Mac lifted his head enough so Jack could see his face was puffy and tear stained. He saw Jack noticing and flushed, but didn't drop his head. He blinked a few times and then shook his head. "Not even a little. But I will be. Give me a few minutes."

Jack nodded as Mac put his head back down. "You wanna tell me what happened, bud?"

"No … I … Maybe … I remembered some things … I couldn't stop … I," his breath hitched again. "I had to get away from that smell."

Jack nodded slowly, remembering the burnt rubber and sort of chemical smell he'd noticed in the lab. Honestly, smelled like another day at the office to Jack, because, although Mac didn't know it, Jack still found himself around stuff that blew up a lot. Burnt tires, explosives, were very distinctive smells. Jack was thoughtful for a minute. "I've had that happen. Smells bringing back stuff."

Mac sniffled a little but lifted his head again and said, "Sense memory is very powerful."

"Yeah, just a smell can take you right back to your childhood." Mac mumbled some agreement. "Or a war zone."

"Yeah. I … Jack, I …"

"What is it, kid?"

"I've spent the last … damn, going on two years now, trying to forget Afghanistan ever happened, and definitely the part O'Neill was caught up in. I feel like the Mazari have been after me since '09, man."

"That's right … they chased you some."

"Yeah," Mac said with almost no color in his voice at all. Then he added quietly. "They had a good reason."

Jack decided to deal with that statement later. "You still feel like they're after you sometimes, don'tcha?"

Mac nodded. "I guess seeing that picture the other night made me feel like they kind of are, brought it all back up. I think I'm okay now, Jack." Mac started to get up off the ground. "I could probably go back to work, honestly."

"Oh, no ya don't, kid. I'm gonna follow you back to your place and we're gonna eat that lunch you ditched me on, and maybe talk a little more … If you can."

Mac nodded slowly. That was Jack's Don't Argue With Your Overwatch tone. It was easier to go along with it. "Alright, I guess."

He was climbing into his Jeep when Jack couldn't resist asking anymore, "You said they had good reasons for going after you … Other than you just walking away from their ambush."

"Yeah," Mac said, pulling the door closed, turning the Jeep on, and speaking out his open window. "I mean, I kind of blew up their first safe house. I … I never reported it … but …"

"But what, kid?"

Mac put the Jeep in gear. "But they grabbed me along with the rest of the guys at that checkpoint. I just didn't hang around for long."

"Son of a bitch," Jack growled under his breath as he climbed into his own car to follow Mac home. This was a story he needed to hear, whether or not Mac was ready to tell it. Then he had some more bad news to break to the kid. Probably worse than the O'Neill picture had been, but … what would come would come.

Jack was back on overwatch.


	10. Chapter 10

By the time they pulled out of the rest area where Jack found Mac, traffic had definitely gotten that LA rush hour feel. Jack didn't want to think that Mac was explicitly trying to lose him in it, but his aggressive weaving in and out, changing lanes and speeds, and finally disappearing around two illegally close tractor trailers felt a little like somebody trying to ditch a tail.

That was ridiculous of course, Jack told himself. Mac had more or less invited him home with him … okay, not invited, but certainly agreed to have him, and he'd been practically living there lately anyway. Mac had gotten weirdly concerned over Jack's "scrape" and kept inviting him to stay. When Jack had mentioned these new found mother henning tendencies, Mac had just smirked and said he was giving Jack a taste of his own medicine from finding him out at the cabin and fussing over his sleep and meals ever since.

But to suddenly feel like you were working surveillance and had gotten made was a little disconcerting, if only because the guy who'd just effectively lost you had no training in doing any such thing, and knew you knew where he lived anyway. Jack concluded that maybe it was just instinctive on Mac's part.

He'd admitted to feeling pursued by the Mazari, that his dreams had been making him exhausted and a little paranoid, then he'd had some flashbacks. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility, Jack supposed, that Mac was just instinctively avoiding any sensation of being followed.

When Jack pulled in to Mac's parking area, Mac's car was already parked, and Bozer was coming out the door dressed for work. "Hey, Jack!" Bozer greeted. 'What are you guys doing here so early?"

"Mac didn't tell you?" Jack replied, as he headed toward the door.

"Nah, man, he just said 'Hey Boze' when he saw I was on my way out and zoomed right past me."

Jack hated to do it, but he sort of wanted Bozer keeping an extra eye on Mac, too, when he wasn't around, at least until the kid was on an even keel. "Well, he wasn't feelin' so hot at work, so he left." Bozer frowned. "He didn't even stop to let me know," Jack continued. "His lab buddy sort of sent me after him. He was worried about him makin' it home. I guess there's been a nasty bug going around the office."

"Aw, that's awful, Jack. Mac must feel really bad to come home like that. He never misses work. Never has. He was even kind of Mr. Perfect Attendance at school. My mom used to give me the hardest time when I'd want to stay home. She'd just raise her eyebrow and say, 'Well, Mac made it out of bed this morning, Wilt.'"

Jack paused. "Your mom knew when Mac went to school? Were you guys like next door neighbors or somethin?"

Bozer shook his head, thinking maybe he'd said too much. But Mac and Jack were close, Bozer was sure … why wouldn't Jack know about … Bozer wondered how much about Mac's life before the Army he'd ever told Jack. He decided it was okay to reveal a little more. "Mac stayed at my house a lot," felt safe enough to offer.

Jack gave him a speculative look. There was more to that statement, but Jack supposed now was not the time to pursue it. "I've never known him to miss time either, Boze. But, maybe he's gettin' sensible in his old age," Jack said lightly. He wanted Bozer to help keep an eye on Mac, not drive the kid crazy.

"Sensible about admitting when he's sick? I seriously doubt it," Bozer said with a skeptical tone and a raise of his eyebrows.

Then he wondered if that was something Jack knew about Mac. Bozer distinctly remembered the first time his friend had gotten sick after his mom had died. Boze found him crying under the tree that would eventually house their lab, convinced that he was going to die, too. They'd only been in kindergarten. So, of course, Bozer had gotten his mom involved. She'd called Mac's dad, who … hadn't exactly been sensitive to his son's plight and had promptly gone out of town.

Mom had just called Mac's grandfather who'd done what he always did and sort of fixed everything, but after that Mac had to practically be dying to own up to it. Bozer didn't realize exactly how much of the worry he carried around with him based on Mac's past and what he knew of it was stamped on his face until Jack offered a warm reassurance.

"Yeah, I hear ya, man. Well, I'll keep an eye on him till you get home, anyway."

"I might be pretty late," Bozer said, letting the statement be a little bit of a question.

"I'll plan on crashing here again then. Wouldn't want to leave our boy all on his own if you have to work late."

"Great, Jack. Thanks!" Bozer said, climbing into his beat up little car, clearly relieved to have the responsibility of getting Mac to look after himself taken off his shoulders at least for the moment.

There was nothing quite as ornery and disagreeable as a sick or injured Angus MacGyver and Bozer felt like he'd already done his time at that particular circle of Hell when Mac had lived with them. Jack could take that duty for now. The guy wanted to appoint himself as an official member of their little family unit, he could earn it.

Satisfied that he'd have Bozer's help, but not too much of it, Jack headed inside. "Mac! Buddy? Where you at?"

"Out here," came the subdued answer from out on the deck.

Jack stopped at the fridge for water and headed outside. Mac was crouched by the fire pit, working on getting it started. "Want a drink?" Jack asked casually.

"Nah, I already grabbed …" Mac trailed off, picking up the bottle he'd brought out with him and realizing it was already empty. "I mean, sure. Thanks."

Jack passed him a water and sat down in the deck chair behind Mac, letting the kid hear every move he made by being deliberately loud. He'd been told before that he had panther-like killer stealth, but when he was around Mac he adopted a heavy step. If he was too quiet, it seemed to bother Mac, and the kid would give him funny looks. It was easier to just be noisy.

Mac just kept working in the fire pit.

"You musta been in a hurry to get here," Jack observed. "I felt like I was the losing car at the Indy 500 tryin' ta keep up with you."

Jack didn't add that fast cars and excellent defensive driving weren't just a hobby of his, but something he had extensive training in.

"I … I guess I was. I was just thinking of beating the traffic. Didn't mean to leave you eatin' my dust, pal," Mac threw a sideways grin over his shoulder, and Jack almost bought it. Almost.

Jack decided to just come out with it and see where that led. "I didn't mean to hug your bumper, kid. I know you said you've been feelin' chased. I shoulda thought of that when I was followin' you."

"That's not …" Mac sighed. "Okay, maybe that was sort of a thing … but … That's my baggage, Jack. You don't have to think like that. Like very thing you do has to be pre-planned or whatever so you don't … I've got to just deal with this."

There was a stubborn edge in his voice, and he was annoyed, but not with Jack. With himself, pretty clearly. This was familiar territory to Jack. Mac was insanely hard on himself, had been since Jack had met him. At first Jack assumed that it was because he'd kind of been a jerk to the kid during their first encounter.

He still felt bad about it, but he'd been pissed. He'd been working an undercover op, and it had been a fun one. It had let him draw on his past military experience, play with the fun toys, and he had been making some real headway in his investigation into some possible dirty dealing, too when he'd gotten the call that he was reassigned. Out of nowhere.

Go protect a bomb nerd. _Why?_ he'd demanded. Because the boss says so. Maybe you're cover's not as good as you think and you need to shore it up, his supervisor had said. So suddenly instead of playing at the fun parts of being a soldier, he'd had to do the real work of it again. Then the kid had walked into the bunk room and touched his gear. Jack had kind of blown his top.

So he assumed at first that Mac was hard on himself to avoid the wrath of Dalton being rained down on him again. But that wasn't it. He was that way all the time. Always ready to be first in, last out. Never thinking for a second before he dove in to disarm some crazy half-assed and dangerous explosive. And never, repeat never, willing to admit weakness to anybody, even if he was bleeding.

Jack sat forward in his chair. "Well, yeah. We've all got to deal with our pasts, bud. But you found out that not only were all your bad dreams sort of coming true because I brought you the info that O'Neill is still alive and it looks like he's workin' for the bad guys, but … You've been dredging stuff up in therapy, too, and …"

"I stopped seeing Sissy," he said quietly.

Jack frowned at Mac's back, but kept his tone neutral. "Yeah? How come? Wasn't she helping?"

Mac shrugged, or at least Jack thought he did. There seemed to be a slight rise and fall of Mac's shoulders, although without the ability to see the kid's face, it was harder to tell. "Nightmares are worse if I talk about it," he said quietly.

"Well, good for you then," Jack said, like he really thought it was. Mac glanced over his shoulder. "Look, man, part of navigating the bad stuff that's happened to us, is figuring out how that works for each of us, not what works for other people. Therapy works for me. But if it's not your thing. If you'd rather go for a run … or drive like a stunt man … That's what you gotta do."

Finally Mac got up and sat down next to Jack. He gave him the smallest of smiles. "Thanks man. I thought you'd be mad."  
"Not mad, bud. Just kind of worried. You've had a lot unloaded on you … And it's pretty clearly gettin' to you ... What made you pull over in that rest stop? You were almost home."

Mac shrugged again, but realized he was going to have to say something. "Someone slammed their brakes on in front of me. I broke hard and the seatbelt locked up. Felt just like the harness that day … I had to get out of the car. I knew I couldn't focus to drive and …"

"So you did another smart thing that worked for you. That's all great, Mac."

"But?" Mac prompted, hearing Jack's reserve.

Jack shook his head. Damned kid was too sharp. "But … I might have some more bad news."

"Just tell me Jack," Mac demanded, frowning.

"Well, that buddy of mine did some digging into O'Neill's family like you asked."  
"And?" Mac asked.

"Well … They kinda don't exist …" Jack trailed off at the total lack of surprise on Mac's face.

"Okay. That's what I figured. That helps." He paused, reading Jack's million questions on his face. "There was always something just a little off about Tallahassee. And he talked about his family even less than I talked about mine. To the point where his bunkmate, Zwickey commented on it more than once. I asked around a little, but I got told to knock it off really fast. I figured he had his reasons just like me. But …" Mac trailed off, rubbing his temples like he had the start of a killer headache.

"What is it, Mac?" Jack asked, watching his friend carefully.

"The day we got hit … He was acting really weird, like he knew something was going to happen. Then … I would have gotten away clean and had support there before they got taken out of town, but, I was climbing out the window and he yelled …"

"O'Neill ratted you out?" Jack frowned deeply.

"No … At least I didn't think so at the time. I thought he was just hurt … everybody was, I mean, we'd gotten blown up, shot at, and beaten to hell by then … But lately … Remembering things … I think he did. I think he let them know I was escaping." There was an unfamiliar tension in Mac's voice. It wasn't the usual one that was there at moments like these. The tension that usually preceded Mac clamming up and saying he needed to go for a run. It said he really needed to get something off his chest, but didn't know how to say so.

Jack looked down at his hands for a minute. "You wanna tell me about it?"

Mac shook his head, but also sort of nodded it at the same time. "Not really," he replied seriously. Then he gave another small smile; this time it made him look sadder than a smile had any business making anybody look, especially someone so young. "But I think I need to."


	11. Chapter 11

By the time he got to the part of the story where the rescue team arrived, Mac's breathing was a little uneven. He could feel Jack's eyes on him but he struggled to meet them.

He'd never told the entire story of the attack on that patrol before, and he found himself wishing that he'd just reported all of it back when it happened.

He just hadn't particularly thought that the third of a day he'd spent as a captive was all that important. Well … if he was honest, and if he couldn't be honest with himself, what was the point? … He hadn't remembered all of it at the time and wasn't about to report something he could only recall vaguely.

Time, and frequent vivid dreams, solidified some of the details for him.

Jack was staring at him. Waiting.

Mac opened his mouth to go on, to finish telling the story, the part where the Mazari gave up hunting for him, assuming he was dead most likely, and had moved the other men out of the town, the part where he followed, mostly because he couldn't think of anything else to do. Then he closed it again. That happened a few more times.

Finally, Jack spoke. "So you just followed them?"

Mac glanced at Jack and flushed at little at the open admiration he saw there, and then almost backpedaled to revise his story like a kid caught in a lie, because despite the truth of everything he'd said, he could see a fair amount of disapproval beneath the surface in Jack's expression. Mac sighed. "I … yeah. I didn't know what else to do."

"Didn't think about finding help locally?" Jack asked, sounding merely curious.

Mac shrugged. "Didn't know if I could trust anyone … And we weren't so far out, I guess I sort of figured our guys were already looking. And … I knew they had the radio." He paused and half smiled at Jack's expression. Then he joked, "It made sense at the time. I mentioned the part where I'd gotten blown up, right?"

Jack didn't seem to think it was even a little funny though. "Yeah …" He paused, frowning. "Mac, why wasn't any of this in the report in your file, bud?"

Mac shrugged again. "I … I was a little foggy on the whole thing when they brought us in … And nobody believed me that there were still other guys back there. They were using it as an excuse to make a much bigger deal out of my concussion than it should have been …"

"Yeah, no big deal." This time Jack smiled a little. "Concussion, knife wound, fever, dehydration …"

"Okay, fine, so you've read the report," Mac huffed. "I was fine … or more fine than they thought I was anyway, I just … I don't know … at first I didn't think of it. Then I was just kind of desperate to get them to go back looking for Tallahassee and Big Z …"

He sighed again, this one sounding terribly tired and his shoulders slumped a little.

"After a while I just wanted it to be over and to move on to whatever was next … It was maybe a little stupid not to say anything, but I was …"

He trailed off, at a loss as to how to explain himself.

"Nineteen?" Jack said gently.

Mac snickered then. "I was gonna go with afraid I'd get in trouble, but yeah, I was still pretty green, too, I guess."

"Way back then," Jack observed wryly. Mac rolled his eyes.

"It feels like a lifetime ago," Mac sighed, not sure he wanted to admit to too much more, but deciding Jack would be pissed if he didn't and the older man found out. "I tried doing some digging on my own a couple of times, but I kept running up against dead ends."

Jack was peering at his face closely, but it didn't particularly make him self conscious at this point. This wasn't so much Jack's worried face as it was his trying to figure something out face.

"I couldn't let it go. I really did kind of think I was losing it the first time I saw one of the guys I recognized from the Mazari's camp." He looked away from Jack and then back a little sheepishly. "That's why I was still out at the cabin. Gramps wanted me to move in here, Hell he wanted to be living here when he was sick … He decided to go out there when I came back from the drug store with his medicine all freaked out one day … He thought it was PTSD and was kind of a pain in the ass about it …"

"Is anyone who wants you to look out for yourself automatically a pain in the ass?"

Mac half grinned then. "Usually … But only because it's often motivated by the conviction that I don't know how."

Jack patted him on the shoulder with affectionate exasperation. "Well, you're learnin', I'll give you that, kid."

"Anyhow, we got out of the city after it happened a couple more times. He figured I'd let it go if I wasn't reminded about it all the time."

"But you never did," Jack said, almost as a question.

Mac shrugged. "Dreams wouldn't let me, _won't_ let me." He paused, then his shoulders squared a bit. "And now we have evidence that I was right. So … what to we do about it?"

Jack looked like he had a lot to say about that, instead he just shook his head a little. "Nothing yet, kid. I wanna talk to a friend about it first."

Mac looked like he might argue, then he just huffed a frustrated puff of breath, ran a hand through hair that was in need of a trim, and said, "Okay. Sure."

0-0-0

Mac looked at the blueprint for probably the fifth time. Something he was not accustomed to having to do. He chewed his lip for a minute. Then he decided to get a second opinion. "Hey Barry? Can you come take a look at this?" he called to one of the other lab techs.

He would have preferred Harkins, who seemed to think, mechanically any way, more like he did. But Jay was on vacation, apparently living it up at his sister's destination wedding at Disney in Florida, so one of the biotech guys was looking at his polymer project while he was gone since their organic chem chops were probably the next strongest.

"What's up, Mac?" the lab tech, who Mac thought had even more of a baby face than he did, asked, coming over almost tentatively. Mac had been a little prickly the last day or so. Barry heard that a friend of his who was out on a security job had missed a check in and the longer they went without hearing from the team, who were somewhere in the Andes (apparently a little hostile to outsiders) for an environmental study, the more intense and snappish Mac got.

"This just looks …" Mac groped for a word that encompassed how he felt about the specs and settled on, "stupid."

Barry squinted at the schematic. "I dunno Mac. Looks like an insert tab a into slot b situation to me," he hedged. Then he frowned at Mac. "Maybe you oughta take a break man. You didn't even leave to eat today … it's almost closing time. Director Thornton gets pretty intense about us office types hanging around after hours. You may have noticed," he said lightly. Barry knew Mac had personally been kicked out by the director at least once a week since he'd started here.

Mac frowned and looked at the clock. Then, he got out his phone and checked it for probably the hundredth time since Barry had come back from lunch. Still no word from Jack. Jack and the scientific expedition team that he and another guy were providing security for were pushing four days past their check-in.

Mac had been trying to be cool about it, but, after the incident of the "scrape" which Mac was about 90% certain was a bullet wound, he had some serious questions and concerns about what it was Jack actually did here. In fact, to be honest, Mac was starting to have some pretty serious questions about what "here" really was. They were working on a lot of things that didn't fit into his conception of what a scientific or humanitarian think tank did.

"Hey, Barry, would you mind shelving this for me? I want to go check in with admin."

"Still no word from your friend?" Barry asked.

Instead of answering, Mac just shook his head, grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, folded it over one arm, and headed for the bank of elevators down the hall from his work room. He'd never gone to Director Thornton's office himself, but he knew where it was. And Markinson, the current Head of Security, had been less than useless to Mac in his increasingly frequent inquiries over the last several days.

Mac found himself more nervous than he'd ever been dealing with any CO in the Army as he approached the office of Director Patricia Thornton. There was something absolutely forbidding about the woman and her cold, dispassionate demeanor. However, his unease was tempered by the fact that he sort of liked her. He appreciated her no nonsense approach, and he was still a little impressed that she'd bothered to meet him personally when he was hired.

He was about to rap his knuckles on the frosted class when the door pulled open, startling him into stammering. "Dddirector Thornton …" Her eyes widened in surprise, but Mac thought he saw something else there, too. "I was just wondering … that is, I haven't heard from Jack … Um … Dalton … and he was supposed to be back last Friday and …"

She reached out a cool hand put it on his shoulder. "I was just about to come and find you, Mac," she said. It was in the same cool tone she always used, but there was something about her expression that was just shy of neutral.

Mac felt his stomach drop. The "scrape" went through Mac's head again. If he was really doing a job that put him in danger of bullet wounds and in a position to have to lie about them, how long a walk was it to a "scrape" right through his center mass. Jack was a helluva a shot. In a world full of them. He was about to open his mouth to try to form a question, but Thornton gave his shoulder a brief squeeze before dropping her hand back to her side gracefully.

"The research team Jack was with was attacked by one of the rebel groups that's been terrorizing Huancavelica."

"In Peru?" Mac asked, picturing the map, as well as all manner of horrible things that might mean.

"Yes," Patty replied. "Apparently they got roughed up a fair amount and Jack being Jack took the brunt of it."

"Is he okay?" Mac asked, know full well that he no longer sounded as calm as he'd been determined to when he decided to go talk to the boss.

Thornton took him by the elbow and started walking back toward the elevators, pushing the call button and continuing to fill him in as they moved through the building. "No injuries were too serious … a few cracked ribs, some abrasions, a few knife wounds requiring sutures …"

"Knife wounds? _That's_ not serious?"

Mac hadn't meant to snap like that, but found he couldn't help it. He'd gotten himself good and stressed out over the lack of communication from a man he'd fallen back into the habit of counting on much more easily than he would have liked.

She sort of side eyed him with a small half smile. "You've known Dalton for a while now, Mac. Does that sort of thing normally slow him down much?"

Mac couldn't help smiling back a little. "I guess it doesn't. He's a next level ninja master at making everyone else's condition seem way more dire than his and ghosting on getting himself taken care of." He snickered to himself without meaning to.

"Something funny?" she asked.

"No … just one time … Nothing. I can't tell that story."

"Is it classified?" she asked pleasantly.

Mac shook his head. "Not the part I was laughing about anyway. Just … Jack would kick my ass … I mean … pardon me, ma'am, I didn't mean …"

She was vaguely amused by his sense of propriety. "No offense taken, MacGyver," she offered, keeping her amusement out of her voice. "And I'm afraid he won't be kicking anyone's ass for a week or two."

They were now walking down a long hallway that Mac recognized as the one leading to the company infirmary.

"You see, he did, for a change, seek medical care locally since their assignment wasn't over. Unfortunately the only one available was a small private facility rather than the more reliable state run institutions and he managed to contract a case of typhoid."

Mac frowned. "Are you sure?"

Thornton raised an eyebrow at him.

"I mean, is it confirmed, because typhoid is part of the standard vaccination protocol for a lot of overseas deployments in the Army and …" He caught Thornton's expression. "I know it's not a hundred percent effective, but …" There was a slight almost amused wryness to her eyes now, Mac was quite certain. "And he probably flaked on getting the booster, right?"

She stopped at the door to the infirmary. "That appears to be the case. Something we'll have to take steps about in the future for employees who travel for us, I believe."

Mac nodded. That was sensible. Especially for someone like Jack who had an uncanny ability to avoid anyone aiming remotely medicinal sharp objects in his direction. Mac almost regretted showing him how to use superglue to avoid stitches. He took the construct to ridiculous lengths a few times.

Jack often accused Mac of being worse than he was, but Mac was not, under any circumstances, going to acknowledge that they were even close in that regard. Mac asserted that he just didn't like being slowed down so he was careful how he presented himself to others if he was sick or hurt. He didn't know Bozer and Jack had already discussed why that might be behind his back.

"But he's okay?" Mac finally asked as Thornton had gone silent, sort of studying him.

"He certainly should be. He came in with his team last night, a bit feverish and miserable, but he's enough himself this evening to be pestering everyone to either find his phone or go tell you where he is and to be nagging the medical staff to let him go home."

Mac relaxed a little. A Jack who could drive anyone in scrubs nuts, or worry about where Mac was, was probably going to be fine. "Does it seem likely that they'll let him?" Mac asked as they passed through the doors. If Jack had already spent a night here, Mac shuddered to think what his reaction would be to hearing he'd be spending another one.

Thornton glanced at him. "That depends, actually." He met her eyes. "On you. How would you feel about taking him home and keeping an eye on him?"

"I'm not exactly qualified for …"

"I suggested sending one of the nursing staff home with him and even I nearly blushed at the language that elicited from our Mr. Dalton. All you need to do is what you'd normally do for a sick friend. And follow the medication and follow up schedule, sanitary procedures, and keep an eye out for concerning symptoms that they would give you the list for. You'd get to help a friend as an assignment I would consider a personal favor, and I would get to spare my nursing staff undue pain and suffering."

Mac smiled a little at that. If Jack was sick, mostly likely all he'd do would be to sleep on the couch, watch Bruce Willis movies, and whine a little. "I mean, sure, if he's really okay to leave." Mac thought for a minute, going through a mental inventory. "If he's been on antibiotic therapy for the last twenty-four hours … probably by tomorrow he'll feel quite a bit better, based on typical response times of typhoid to treatment and he should be back to normal in seven to ten days. I can keep an eye on Jack for a couple days. Wouldn't be the first time."

Thornton nodded. "Until he's cleared by the medical staff to be on his own. I very much appreciate your flexibility in your work, MacGyver. And your loyalty to your friend."

She then opened the door to a small hospital style room where Jack, looking sweaty and pale and utterly miserable was currently engaged in a losing argument with a petite pixie-ish blonde nurse with the worlds perkiest voice and smile.

Mac thought she looked downright evil, or at least diabolical. Poor Jack. He pushed his way into the room and immediately sat down in the chair next to Jack's bed. He butted into the mostly one-sided conversation the nurse was having at Jack. "Hey, pal. How you doing?"

He earned himself a glare from the pixie devil as she chose to exit the room, which he studiously ignored, preferring to focus on Jack's hangdog countenance. Jack heaved a dramatic sigh. Then he shook his head. "I've been better, bud."

"I heard," Mac said sympathetically. Mac thought Jack looked even younger than him with his dejected expression on his overly pale face, picking absently at the tape over where an IV ran into the back of his hand, looking for all the world like the universe's scruffiest kid. "The good news is, Director Thornton is going to get these guys to send you home without dragging one of the medical staff with you."

Jack's face split into an immediate grin, suddenly looking a lot less sick and miserable and a lot more like himself. "Awesome!"

Mac grinned back and shook his head. "The bad news is I've been assigned to be their proxy."

Jack didn't quite seem to catch on at first. Thornton helped him along. "Meet Nurse Mac."

Jack groaned and rolled his eyes. "Ah, c'mon, he's a worse mom than my actual mom when he thinks he's in charge of somebody!"

The director smiled the same Cheshire Cat smile Mac had noticed when he'd met her in the gym several months ago. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you argued for twenty minutes with Nurse Boyers. She's retiring this year Jack. She doesn't have the patience with her patients that she used to."

Jack managed to chuckle at that. "I think I'm a bad influence. That was almost a pun, Director Thornton."

She looked at Jack for a long moment and he actually squirmed under her gaze. Then her small smile returned. "Glad to see they haven't over medicated you this time, Jack. I appreciate you not resorting to overly familiar nicknames." She sniffed like she was actually offended. "Patty, indeed."

Jack had the decency to blush at that. "Director, I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean any disrespect …"

"Relax, Jack. I know what they prescribed you. If you'd called me Mama I wouldn't have been surprised."

Jack's eyes widened. Then Mac snorted laughter and looked a little surprised at himself. "Mama," Mac snorted almost under his breath.

The director turned and stepped into the hall at a soft tap on the door.

Jack immediately relaxed more completely now that the menacing pixie of a nurse and his boss were gone. "Mac, buddy, I'm sorry I left ya hangin'."

"I'm just glad you're okay, Jack. I was worried." Mac's face said it was more than simple worry, too. He paused, then admitted, "It's been good to have you back around again, old man."

He couldn't have said anything that would have cheered Jack more. "I know it ain't formal anymore, kid, but it's been damned nice to be watching your back again … As much as you'll let me."

Mac reached out and patted Jack's arm, wincing a little at how warm it felt. "But for the next couple of days, you let me be your overwatch, okay, pal? Typhoid is treatable, but it's still serious. And Thornton said you guys got jumped by rebels in the mountains, too? Promise me you'll take it easy, please?"

Jack frowned, like he really wanted to respond with something other than the solemn nod he gave Mac, but he held his tongue beyond, "I promise, kid."

Mac grinned and was about to ask Jack where he could find him some clothes and what he wanted to do about transportation, because Mac would rather drive his Jeep to Jack's place, but he understood if Jack didn't want to leave his father's beautiful classic car here in the parking deck, but Director Thornton leaned back into the room.

"MacGyver?"

"Yes, ma'am?" he said, managing to look just interested and not like he thought he was in trouble.

"Have you received a typhoid vaccination before?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered with assurance. "I was part of several foreign deployments before my discharge, ma'am."

She nearly smiled. Boy Scout. Soldier. Well-brought-up boy. Whatever it was, there was an unfailing politeness and respect inherent to Angus MacGyver that was a little surprising and altogether pleasant. "How long ago was that?"

Mac frowned, thinking backward. "A while now, I guess, ma'am."

She gave a curt nod. "Emily will be in in a few minutes to give you a booster and get you all of Jack's paperwork."

Mac swallowed. "Ma'am, I'm not sure I see the point in …"

"How long ago specifically was that vaccination, Mac?" she asked.

He blinked. "A couple of years now, I guess, ma'am, but …"

"They're good for two years. And you're going to be taking care of Dalton for us, so pick a sleeve and roll it up."

Mac frowned. "But, ma'am, those vaccines take a couple of weeks to reach efficacy so I'm still not sure …"

Director Thornton raised a single eyebrow. Jack and Mac exchanged a look. It was a familiar ' _oh shit_ ' look that said they knew they'd pushed back a little too far with a superior. "Are you really trying to pull a Dalton right now, MacGyver? Because trying to avoid something this routine and reasonable is a problem worthy of consideration at your upcoming three-month performance review …"

For once Mac decided that rude was better than called on the carpet. He interrupted, "No. ma'am. No problems here, ma'am." To emphasize how very not a problem he was, Mac definitively put his folded coat down across his lap and rolled the sleeve of his t-shirt up above his bicep. "Whatever you need me to do, Director Thornton."

She just gave him an approving little smile before ducking back out the door.

Mac turned back to Jack then, his glare impressive. Jack began, "Mac, I really appreciate …"

"You owe me." He made sure Jack saw how serious he was. "Big."


	12. Chapter 12

Mac could hear the TV from Jack's room, not Die Hard any more … some sort of sporting event by the sounds. That meant Jack was awake again.

Mac leaned against the counter next to the sink with a tired sigh. He should just finish the breakfast dishes he'd been putting off and go check on Jack. He looked at the clock. He needed to start lunch too.

He reached up with one hand to rub his forehead.

He couldn't decide if he wanted to blame the headache on the side effects of the completely useless until at least next Monday and therefore totally unnecessary typhoid shot, or the fact that Jack was moaning and groaning like he was dying and being a giant baby.

He sighed again. That wasn't fair, not really. Mac was just grumpy as hell and he knew it. Jack was still pretty sick and his woes were compounded by his injuries. And the thing was, the poor guy wasn't even being all that dramatic about it, just every time he so much as mumbled in his sleep, Mac was on his feet and at Jack's side in a flash. That impulse and the ensuing headachey exhaustion probably contributed more than a little to his uncharitable thoughts, he supposed.

Last couple of nights Mac was pretty sure he hadn't slept more than twenty minutes at a time. It was a little bit of a blur though. Jack had definitely needed his help a fair amount, but the fatigue Mac was wandering around in a haze of today was multiplied tenfold by the fact that he hadn't slept much all the preceding weekend worrying about Jack and that missed check in and the fact that he now had a low grade fever from the vaccine to go with the headache that he was more than half sure was caused by the same thing. Not to mention an angry red welt on his arm where Demon Tinkerbell had cheerfully stabbed him.

He laughed at himself a little then, picturing his grandfather's _No Whining_ poster from their garage. He remembered sullenly insisting it wasn't really whining if he didn't say it out loud and Harry had chuckled and told him he'd have to work on thinking more quietly then. Mac couldn't remember what he'd been grumbling about that particular day, but right now he would admit to whining a little, even if it was just in his own head.

Momentarily shaken out of his exhaustion-fueled funk, he donned some gloves, put extremely hot water and some bleach in the sink, and started washing dishes. At least Jack's appetite was returning. That was a good sign. Maybe by tonight, Mac thought, he'd feel good enough about Jack's condition to let himself really sleep.

Dishes done, gloves disposed of, apartment obsessively cleaned and sanitized for the third time, and a frozen macaroni and cheese in the oven, Mac was contemplating lying down on the couch for a few minutes to maybe close his eyes until the timer went off. He'd made it as far as sitting, then decided since Jack was awake anyway maybe he'd vacuum. He'd gotten the machine out of the closet when Jack's voice drifted out of his room.

"Hey, Mac, buddy?"

Mac sighed, marveling again that there were entire professions dedicated to taking care of sick people. Who chose to do that for a living? If he didn't care about Jack on a personal level no amount of money could have convinced getting up and down five hundred times the last two nights was a good idea.

He had a couple of friends who were at the starting to have babies stage of their lives and he suspected this was what having a newborn was like. Good grief. And people decided to do that, too? Either all those people were nuts or Mac was, and he didn't think it was him.

He got up, went to the fridge for a cold ginger ale and walked it into Jack's room, adjusting his expression to just communicate his concern and willingness to help. It wasn't Jack's fault he was in a mood, he thought to himself. When he walked through the door, Jack was frowning a little.

"How you doing, pal? Thirsty?" Mac asked, setting down the can of soda on Jack's nightstand.

Jack smiled slightly. "Nah, kid, I've still got some, but thanks." He gestured vaguely to the gatorade sitting behind the can that Mac just set down that he clearly hadn't noticed.

Now Mac frowned. "You're supposed to be drinking …"

"Yeah, yeah." Jack shook his head at Mac's fussing.

He felt like he should have, instead of merely complaining that Mac could be a bit of a mother hen, explained to Thornton that first, if Mac had a job to do, he was an all or nothing guy, and second if he cared about you he would absolutely put himself on the back burner. Since there wasn't a good way to tell that to Thornton without sounding like he thought Mac couldn't be trusted to take care of himself, he figured he'd just have to remind Mac that they'd been down this road before.

"Jack …"

"I'm drinkin' plenty. Just like I'm supposed to. What you're supposed to be doing is …"

"Taking care of you." He sounded about as grouchy as he felt.

"And yourself." Jack almost cracked up at the eyeroll he got in return.

"Hey man," Mac tried a slightly joking tone. "I'm not here for fun. Boss told me to do what I'm doing! I'm just being a good employee. I'll pretend you're not ignoring me being a good friend." Jack raised a single eyebrow. Mac added. "And I'm taking care of myself just fine thank you very much."

"I hear you rattling around out there. And I know just how much of a pain in the ass I was the last few nights." Mac cracked a smile at that. "I also seem to remember you have a tendency to forget you exist when you're worried about somebody. Remember after that dustup in Helmond? You ran yourself about into the ground looking out for me and the rest of the guys …"

Mac grinned then. "After I knocked you on your ass, you mean?"

Jack chuckled and shook his head. Damned kid was way too proud of that little incident. "Yeah, after that, you little shit. Just remember kid, payback's a bitch."

Another eye roll, but this one came with a grin. "As if I wasn't paying you back at the time. If I were you, I'd call it before I have to engage in some classic barracks-level prankery."

Teasing was much better than worrying. Although, once Mac pranks had been threatened it was a fine line between getting the kid out of his own head and starting a war. He held up his hands in surrender.

"Uncle."

Mac laughed.

"But c'mon Mac, you're driving me crazy today not to mention tiring yourself out for no good reason. You could ease up a little, right?"

Mac was smiling now, just a real genuine grin. If Jack was fussing over him instead of moaning and groaning, he felt worlds better. "I could be persuaded … After you eat lunch."

"You didn't go out and find some MREs to butcher just to remind me how this sort of thing usually goes, didja?"

"Jesus, no. That's your thing. Frozen mac and cheese is as close to committing atrocities in the kitchen as I'm willing to get." He shrugged. "I mean, I've been known to trash a kitchen. But not for food. Should probably learn to cook something other than experiments like I used to appropriate Gramp's kitchen for."

Jack suddenly had a picture in his head of much younger Mac and a blackened kitchen, only his blue eyes staring out of a cartoonishly soot covered face and it struck him as so funny, it set him laughing and he couldn't stop.

After a minute or two Mac just grinned and shook his head, saying, "I don't think I want to know," and he went to the kitchen to pull their lunch out of the oven.

After Jack had eaten, and Mac had in all honesty moved some food around on his plate, Mac once again cleaned up the kitchen, and pretty much re-sanitized the whole apartment. Then out of a combination of extreme boredom because he really did feel pretty good, and a desire to see Mac sit for five minutes, Jack talked him into moving the Xbox from the living room to his bedroom.

Mac did it gladly, thinking that between Jack worrying that Mac was doing too much, the amount of food the man had put away since morning, and him being bored enough to want his video games, he must really be feeling better. He also knew Jack thought he felt well enough to just be moving around the apartment freely again. Mac had vetoed the impulse first thing that morning, saying typhoid was extremely contagious and he was still all sweaty and feverish and there wasn't enough bleach in the whole neighborhood to keep sanitizing things if Jack just went running around. But he also thought that by Friday when Jack was supposed to check back in with the doctor, he'd probably be cleared to go about his business.

When Mac showed no interest in Jack's extensive library of first-person shooter games, even Halo, which Jack just couldn't seem to comprehend, he offered Madden, NHL, and NBA as less attractive but more Mac-friendly alternatives. Mac declined, thinking mostly that trying to concentrate on a video game was outside of his brain's current capabilities.

Jack finally gave up and suggested a dvd instead, but said he wanted company, not for Mac to clean his apartment again. They finally agreed on The Avengers. Mac made popcorn at Jack's request, then he brought in cushions from the couch for both of them to prop themselves up on against Jack's head board. Mac even kicked off his shoes and actually got comfortable to watch the movie.

They hadn't been watching long when one of Jack's favorite topics came up. "So, now that they've made a decent movie with these characters, you still think Hulk would be cool if you had to be a superhero?"

Mac snickered. "And here I thought your memory was going, old man." Jack punched him lightly in the arm; fortunately it wasn't the one that felt like someone had held a lit cigar against it after punching him with a fistfull of nickels. "After you finally saw that godawful piece of crap movie that came out when I was in high school do you still think the Punisher would be cool?"

Jack grinned. "See now, I knew I didn't need to worry about your memory, wunderkind. Yeah, I still think Frank Castle is a badass. Crappy movies can't ruin a good book, comic or otherwise."

They quieted during another action sequence where Thor's mischievous, if not downright evil, little half-brother was getting up to no good. Jack tipped the popcorn bowl in Mac's direction. Mac waved him off. "No thanks, pal, I'm all set."

"Dude, have some popcorn. You went to all the trouble of doing the coconut oil and rosemary thing you love. You don't need to leave it all for me just cuz you're all worried about making sure I eat."

"Seriously, dude. I'm good." Mac shook his head at the stubborn look he could see Jack giving him out of the corner of his eye. After a full minute of Jack staring at him instead of watching the movie, he finally turned and looked at him. "Dude, I'm not sharing a bowl with you. You're contagious."

Jack frowned. "Still?"

Mac nodded. "Some people are contagious forever." Jack's eyes widened with something like real horror. "It's not common or anything, and you got treated right away, so probably by the time you're done with your medicine you'll be clear."

Jack looked relieved, if not altogether happy with his situation. Then he made a face that was somewhere between confused and afraid he was going to get a lengthy explanation. "But you should be good anyway, even if you do share my popcorn. You got the magic Jack's germ repellent from the Princess of Darkness."

Mac rolled his eyes. He'd already gone over this with Thornton, then the nurse, and both those explanations had been right in front of Jack. Then again, Jack had still been pretty feverish at the time. "The inactivated vaccine doesn't reach efficacy for one to two weeks, Jack. And it isn't the world's most effective vaccine either; seventy percent tops. And any immunity I got from the series from when I got deployed is long over. That was like four years ago now. That's just how the immune system works."

"Well then, if it wasn't gonna do you any good, why'd you get the shot?"

"Seriously?" Mac's eyes widened a little. "How often do you argue with Patricia Thornton?"

Jack grinned a little. "More than is probably good for me, kid, but I see your point."

Mac shrugged. "Besides the infirmary staff agreed with her. Hard to make a good case when the available experts are against you. Even if they are wrong."

"I refuse to believe you couldn't have kept it up and convinced them. You're great at science stuff." Jack not so secretly though Mac was about the smartest guy in the world, and trusted his scientific knowledge as much as he trusted his own tactical training.

Mac laughed, but it was a slightly embarrassed sound. "Not Biology. And I'm sure Thornton looked at all my transcripts, high school and college. I got a C in Bio in high school and other than some equipment stuff I helped my friend Frankie with, I stuck to engineering at MIT. I think that's enough to undermine any biology-based assertions from me."

"How did a big ole giant melon having brain genius like you get a C in the easiest science class they let anybody take?" Jack asked, plainly curious. Mac didn't talk about his past much and Jack was always intrigued by the details about what made Mac Mac as they emerged.

Mac's ears went a little red. "I guess I didn't try that hard. And at college I thought I knew what I wanted to be. And what I didn't."

Mac's gaze returned to the tv screen. Jack continued to study him. Something was fishy about that answer. Jack decided Mac was more inclined to be patient with him than usual right now, so he decided to try asking a little more. "You're always kind of proud of the grades you made, kid. So I know you worked hard. Why not in biology?"

Mac didn't turn toward him, just shrugged. "Call it a little teenage rebellion." The words were those of a casual amusing comment. The tone was not.

"You rebelled against what? Science? And wound up with a C in bio?"

Mac sighed. "My dad was a biochemist, and chemical engineer."

Something about that didn't sound right either. And Jack once again lamented how little he really knew about Mac. "Was? What's he do now? Or … oh man … did he pass?"

Mac shrugged. "I dunno what he's doing now," he mumbled. "My grandfather raised me. I'm pretty sure I told you about that."

 _Not exactly,_ Jack thought. _Something happened to Mac's dad and I can't even tell if he's mad or sad about it_.

"Oh," sounded really inadequate, but Jack really didn't know what to say. He wanted to ask Mac more about his family, but that was something that Mac had made clear very early in their association was a topic that was off limits. "Well, if the explanation you ran through about that vaccine is any indication, I guess you've learned your bio since then, kid."

Mac shrugged again, but gave Jack a wan smile. "I've learned a few things I suppose."

There was a tightness there, a reserve, that felt distinctly un-Mac-like. So Jack decided to drop it for now. Mac was trying so hard to avoid more conversation because of the uncomfortable territory it had wound up in by staring at the tv that his eyes were getting unbearably tired.

His blinking got longer and slower and by the time Loki's lackeys were really wreaking havoc in Manhattan, he had dozed off, his excessive worry, his exhaustion, his need to take care of Jack, all back burnered by the overwhelming need for sleep.

Jack glanced at him occasionally, thinking the young man currently passed out next to him looked like a kid when he was asleep … well, _more_ like a kid. Then a crease, well-worn if the depth of the line was any indication, spread across his forehead. This was followed by twitching limbs, and distressed, unintelligible mumbling.

More dreams.

Jack frowned, considering waking Mac up from what was clearly turning into a nightmare or already was one. But his guilt over how hard Mac had been working to take care of him told him to let the kid get some sleep and wake him up if it seemed to be getting bad.

Jack didn't know that when it came to dreams of the Mazari, of any of his time in Afghanistan really, that Mac had, usually 'getting bad' was a very relative term.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N - Got some requests for a little whumpy sick Mac action from a bunch of you (which you know I can't even slightly resist). I hope I hit at least a little of each of your suggestions. Keep letting me know what you'd like to see. I love hearing from you! ~ J_

Jack watched his way through _Avengers_ , then _The Hunger Games_ , and finally an _X-men_ movie he'd been meaning to get around to. Mac slept on through all of it, twitching every so often and mumbling in his sleep, but it never reached a level that in and of itself worried Jack. The fact that Mac just dozed off and stayed that way was a little concerning though. He'd never known Mac to sleep all that much, but he figured playing nursemaid all week probably just wore him out.

Dinner time came and went and Jack shook Mac lightly, knowing Mac would yell at him if he didn't at least try to wake him before fending for himself. Mac grumbled and rolled over, covering his head with one arm. Jack smiled slightly. _Now he really looks like a kid,_ he thought. He was tempted to get out his cell phone and take a picture, but thought better of it when he remembered Mac's earlier reference to falling back on Army-inspired pranks as a form of retaliation.

He decided to let a sleeping Mac lie, and turned off the TV and light as he made his way out of his bedroom for the first time in a couple of days.

Jack noticed with a satisfied sort of smile that he was actually starving and, for the first time in days, his stomach didn't hurt at the mere thought of food. He'd been eating anything Mac put in front of him, but it had taken some real willpower to do it, up until the mac and cheese earlier, and now he thought he could eat half a cow and maybe have a beer with it. He knew neither of those things was a great idea, but it was nice to feel semi-normal again, even if it didn't last long.

He went into the kitchen and poked around in the fridge (wearing the gloves Mac had insisted on for him handling food that anyone else might touch) and he settled on various leftovers. He heated things up in the microwave and settled onto the couch. _Die Hard_ was in the bedroom, so Jack flicked the TV to ESPN and shoveled in dinner while the sky outside the windows grew dark. He heard a slightly louder mumble from Mac in the other room and started to rise, but his young friend quieted again.

 _Any Given Sunday_ was on one of Jack's movie channels and he turned up the volume a little. It was one of his favorite football movies. But despite how entertaining the movie was, Jack was only just really starting to recover. Between his still over-taxed physical resources and how full his stomach was, not to mention how comfortable his couch felt -even if only because it was a change of venue - Jack soon dozed off, too. So he didn't hear Mac's dream really catch ahold of him.

0-0-0

Everything was too bright, the colors too rich. It looked like a dream, but he hurt too much for that to be true. So this had to be real. Right? Mac had a vague sense that something was wrong, but he wasn't sure what.

 _Other than everything_ , his inner voice grumped as he stumbled against a dumpster in the alleyway. "Damn it," he mumbled as he put his hand out against the wall to steady himself.

The shouts of the two men who pursued him had faded several blocks ago, but he hadn't dared to stop running. Now he had to. There was, at a minimum, bleeding to stop, and he needed shoes, some sort of disguise, and to figure out a way to get help, or at least get back to where the other men were being held so he could figure out how to help them himself if he couldn't find a way to make contact with the base.

He eased himself stiffly down onto the ground behind some garbage cans, checking to be sure he couldn't be seen from the street. Then puffing out a long breath, he mentally prepared to look at the slice that ran from his shoulder, across his chest, and terminated by his ribs on the opposite side. He hoped it wasn't as bad as it felt.

He wasn't altogether sure what had caused the men who'd captured them to decide to go to work on him first, but he was pretty grateful that it hadn't gone on for very long before they'd been called into the other room. He supposed they might have thought he was the weak link in the squad they captured. He was pretty obviously the youngest, and the only one not carrying a firearm … Actually, that might have been it. It marked him as potential EOD even if they didn't know the insignia on his uniform.

Mac fished out the salt packets that had been in his pocket from their lunch stop. Gritting his teeth, he pulled up his tattered t-shirt and poured the little salt he had into the shallow cut across his chest. He gasped at the sting and just sat for a few minutes, breathing through the discomfort, and trying to think of what to do next.

He had a moment to be truly grateful for the lessons his grandfather had taught him over the years. The first, most important one was when you're in a bad situation, don't panic. Take a deep breath and think.

When the RPG had hit their transport, Mac hadn't really known what happened until it stopped rolling. But he took a deep breath and did his best to process his surroundings. He heard rough voices shouting in Dari, which he was starting to pick out common words from, and he realized he was in serious trouble. A number of squads had gone missing locally and then either turned up on the internet in some truly disturbing videos, or simply been left to die in terrible places after every bit of information that could be squeezed was out of them by their captors.

Hoping at least one thing might swing his way, Mac had sluggishly taken his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket and slid it into the waistband of his underwear. When the men had patted him down they'd missed it, and he was thankful for the belt that probably did the most to conceal it.

He'd taken a moderately severe beating, then been tied to a chair in the same dim room with one high window that the other guys were being held. In retrospect maybe they hadn't gone to work on him first, just separately. The other guys looked pretty bad, too, he thought.

A couple of them were unconscious. None of them were cut like he was though. He wondered exactly what he'd done to the guy working him over that pissed him off enough to warrant the slashing cut he delivered while the other impossibly large member of the pair pinned his arms behind his back and kept kicking his legs out from under him. Mac hadn't even done his usual letting his mouth get ahead of his brain thing that so often got him in trouble. He had already been scared. When that knife came out of his captor's pocket he was as close to panic as he'd ever been.

Bombs were not nearly as scary as that guy.

A bomb would kill you quick. Or you'd beat it and nothing bad would happen. But there wasn't a lot to contemplate beyond that. Not pain, not breaking under interrogation and compromising your own people, hell, your country, and not being the object of some sadistic piece of crap's undivided attention. Mac felt like anyone who could do what these men did, weren't even necessarily motivated by ideology the way people thought. He thought maybe there was just something broken about them, something that liked suffering and chaos.

He opened his eyes again, pulled at his collar to try to get a look at his chest this time. It wasn't bleeding as much. That was good. Next order of business, he thought, was find someplace to steal shoes, and maybe try to make a call if he could find an unattended phone or radio.

His first impulse had been to try to get help from anyone he ran into, but he was glad he'd hesitated and hidden. The person he'd almost approached after cutting himself loose from those coarse ropes and climbing out that window had tried to help his pursuers right after he'd gone over a low fence into a neighbor's yard.

He now felt like approaching a local was tantamount to suicide. So he was on his own until he could call in the cavalry, so to speak.

Mac forced himself to get to his feet, groaning in a completely involuntary way, as he realized that adrenaline from fleeing kept him from realizing how badly his feet had gotten cut up running through the streets with no boots or socks. He paused and looked at his feet, realizing that even if he found shoes they'd probably be an agony to wear. And he definitely couldn't shove these tenderized, raw, bloody appendages into anything that was too small. Mac knew he had big feet for a guy his height. Size thirteen was pretty ridiculous for someone who didn't crack six feet. He'd probably struggle to find shoes that would fit him on a good day, say nothing about now, which was the total opposite of that.

Mac made his way gingerly out of the alley, looking stealthily left and right before he hugged the shadows to move back in the direction he'd come from. He felt like everything was too bright. And it was definitely too hot. Sweat dripped down his back, dampening his shirt, his waistband. Or was it too cold. He shivered occasionally, too, convinced every once in a while that it was ice water dripping off him and not sweat at all.

He realized as he made his slow, painful way back to where his squad was being held that he was almost definitely suffering from dehydration, maybe even heat exhaustion. He was dizzy and his head hurt. His mouth felt like it was lined with cotton. His stomach churned unpleasantly and he'd already had to stop and physically pull his toes up with his fingers due to intense charlie horse spasms in his left calf at least three times.

That wasn't great, he thought. He managed to get some water out of what was clearly a trough for whatever animals lived at one residence and he thought of at least ten different bacteria he could pick up from such a thing and several really entertaining parasites. But, he reasoned, all those things were treatable. Heat stroke, well, that was less of a sure thing. That could kill you even if you were young and healthy like him.

Mac continued to make his determined way back to the broken down house on the outskirts of town he'd fled from. When it came back into view, he had to sit down for a minute, behind another structure. Seeing the place made every bruise flare back to life as if with a fresh blow, and seemed to make the seeping wound on his chest hot and stinging again.

He forced himself to breathe, to try to calm down. He edged closer to the house, able to hear, in the near silence of the almost deserted street, conversation from inside. He had to scramble into a garbage can to avoid being seen when two more of the men emerged from inside without warning.

After that things seemed to happen very quickly. A large military style covered truck pulled up. The men from inside were dragged out and shoved in the cargo area, bound, and now mostly with their faces covered, and the truck was pulling away.

If Mac hadn't done some really quick thinking and moving, despite his truly throbbing head, he would have been left behind. As it was, the thin, wiry, young man managed to get himself under the truck between prisoners being loaded, and wrap himself up in the undercarriage, jostling along painfully for the ten or so miles to the Mazari outpost outside of town.

Things were a bit of a blur after that.

Mac dropped out from under the truck, arms and legs shaking with fatigue, once the noise had faded and the sky had grown dark. Mac knew he'd lurked around warily. He'd had an opening to go in and try to rescue the men a few times, but his brain kept throwing out the sharp cry Tallahassee had let loose with when Mac had cracked that window. Mac didn't know why that was haunting him so, a man just crying out in pain and frustration, but it was, and he couldn't seem to do anything about it.

Mac knew that at some point he'd managed to get into the truck and use the radio. He remembered hearing a friendly voice, sounded like he was from the Bronx maybe, telling him that help was on the way. In relief and days long exhaustion, not to mention a progressively worse fever and general sense that all was not well, Mac had fallen asleep, concealed beneath a tarp near the garbage pile behind the place. He was almost warm and comfortable when a rough hand grabbed him by the front of the shirt and hauled his almost sleeping form off the ground while screaming in his face.

0-0-0

Mac thrashed, trying to free himself from the grip of someone who undoubtedly meant more pain, more fear, and a bitter bloody death at the end of it. His eyes were blown wide, but for the moment all he could see was the velvet dark around him, and all he could hear was the thudding of his own heart, the rush of blood in his ears.

He fell a few feet and hit the floor hard, forcing his breath out in a shocked gasp. Mac knew this couldn't be what it felt like, or at least there was a part of him that knew. But most of his brain was suddenly nineteen, blown up, captured, tortured, pursued, and just sick as hell before help arrived. Mac scrambled to his feet and just started trying to move toward the nearest light source. You couldn't get away if you couldn't see. He ran into something hard that one part of his brain that had already figured out where he was knew was Jack's dresser. But to the rest of him, it felt like someone had stabbed in in the hip. He frantically changed directions and tried getting away from wherever he was again.

Suddenly a dark imposing shape was in the doorway. Mac backpedalled almost before he'd processed that another person was near. The shape was saying something, moving toward him. But all Mac felt was hot, slick panic. He tried to get away as the figure reached out for him. Part of his brain said he should stop running, that the voice saying 'Mac' was speaking with calm, familiar concern. But that wasn't the part in charge.

Almost before he knew what was happening, Mac went over backwards, having overbalanced. He lay on the floor in the dark, gasping, struggling to get upright, struggling even, to breathe.

"Mac, hey, Mac buddy, calm down. It's me, it's Jack, you're okay," came the deceptively calm words out of a man who was legitimately a little scared at that moment.

It took the words being repeated a few times before they pierced Mac's general sense of danger and panic. He became aware that there was a dim light on that was maybe just Jack's phone and he could now see Jack kneeling on the floor next to him, looking down into his face with pained worry. "You with me, kid?"

"I … yeah," Mac croaked, sounding about like he felt. He started trying to struggle up to sitting, grateful at least that it was a dream and he wasn't in Afghanistan, wasn't bleeding, at least as far as he could tell.

"Hey, now, you slow down there, kid."

Jack's hand was firmly resting on his chest, keeping him from rising.

"Jack, quit it. I'm fine. I was dreaming …"

The pressure didn't withdraw. And Mac quickly found he didn't even have the energy to be pissed off, say nothing about fight back.

Jack's other hand reached out toward him, wrist resting briefly on Mac's forehead. "Jesus kid, you're burning up."

Mac took a minute to assess that assertion and decided based on his relentless shivering it was probably true. "Shit," was all that's seemed adequate.

"Yup," Jack agreed, finally easing off trying to keep Mac down. "That about covers it."

Jack stared down into his face for a minute. "We oughta get you to the infirmary …"

"I'm fine," Mac insisted, almost like a reflex.

"Mmmm," Jack said with a shake of his head, standing and turning on the bedside lamp. Instead of hopping up right after him, Mac sat blinking on the floor. _Yeah, sure you're fine_ , Jack thought, looking down at him. He reached out a hand and helped Mac up.

Mac swayed on his feet for a minute, then realized there was no brushing this off. He sat down on the bed, gripping the edge for support, not quite ready to admit defeat, but not able to pretend he was okay either. He felt miserable, almost as miserable as he had the day he would have been recaptured by the Mazari if the good guys hadn't shown up.

Jack sat down next to him. Not too close. Crowding Mac if he was already feeling stubborn about something was usually a ticket to a fight that would leave Jack feeling dumb and Mac feeling bad about whatever he'd said. "I'm not trying to start a thing, kid, but you don't look fine."

He knew he didn't, he didn't feel it either. But what he said was. "I was having a bad dream. I just need a minute."

He still sounded hoarse and he mentally cursed the catalog of symptoms his brain was filing for him. Jack was just frowning at him. Mac could see the expression out of the corner of his eye. It was about killing Jack not to feel his forehead again.

Forestalling the inevitable, Mac looked at Jack and asked, "What time is it?"

"Round two in the morning I think," Jack said, after a moment's hesitation.

Mac ran both hands over his face and through his damp hair. "Jesus, I slept for like twelve hours, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did. Pretty clearly a good reason your body decided to put the kibosh on you running around and waiting on me anymore," he observed. Mac shrugged. Jack waited a minute. "How about we revisit the infirmary part of this conversation, bud? You've been taking care of me all week and you said yourself that vaccine probably didn't do you any good."

"I've been very careful. You've been following the rules. I didn't catch typhoid, Jack."

Jack decided he was okay with pissing the kid off a little, so he reached out slowly to lay the back of his hand against Mac's forehead again. He'd given Mac plenty of opportunity to move away, but he didn't. He just rolled his eyes and flinched a little when it hurt his head.

Jack shook his head, lowering his hand. "Maybe not; but ya caught somethin' kid."

"I doubt it. That vaccine can cause high fevers sometimes and I was pretty beat," Mac shrugged and stood up with deliberate care. "I'm not going to the doctor in the middle of the night because you get fidgety," he said with a small grin. "I'm gonna take a shower and change into actual sleep clothes. I'll be out on the couch after that if you need me."

Jack's expression of concern deepened, but he said, "Okay."

He wanted to argue a little, but he felt like it wasn't even fair given the heaviness of the kid's eyes.

The rest of Mac's night was spent in fitful sleep, but it was blessedly free from dreams, at least as far as he could remember when he pried his eyes open, blinking against the pain the early morning light shot through his forehead.

He sat up, shaking his head at the expression on Jack's face, as well as the fact that his friend was sitting in the chair across from him, waiting for him to wake up.

"Morning, Jack. How you feeling this morning?"

"Like a million bucks compared to how you look," he answered wryly.

Mac sighed. He hurt everywhere, was cold but sweaty, and even after all the sleep he'd gotten just wanted to lay back down. Still, he wasn't worried about it. Probably caught a cold getting run down looking after Jack.

"Don't be so dramatic," he grumped.

He got up and headed around the counter to get himself a coffee. Once he was fully caffeinated, Mac was planning to go to the convenience store around the corner and buy some NyQuil or something. He'd just take is a little easy today, maybe order takeout instead of cooking, then he'd get a decent sleep, take Jack in to the infirmary tomorrow so he could be cleared to go back to work, and crash for the weekend, pounding Gatorade and vitamin c tablets.

Mac definitely looked worse for wear. Jack thought maybe he should try talking to him about going to the infirmary again or at least calling his own doctor, knowing from some experience what it took to get Mac to admit to being less than 100%. And now with the insights from Boze, he understood at least a little bit of why.

"You sure you don't think you could have caught this garbage from me? Because we could just go in to …"

"I'm sure," Mac snapped. He closed his eyes for a second. "Sorry. But I'm good, pal. Really."

Jack sighed. "Do I have to drag out my Sergeant Dalton voice on ya, kid?"

Mac bit down on his natural inclination to get defensive. Jack didn't mean it like that. Not like … "If I was worried, I'm capable of deciding to see a doctor, Jack." he said calmly, taking his coffee back into the living room, mostly because he needed to sit.

Jack followed, on eyebrow cocked in natural skepticism brought on by Mac's choice of words. "Do you even have a doctor?"

Mac rolled his eyes. "No … I mean, honestly, why would I?"

"It's kind of a thing you do," Jack said mildly.

"Dude, I'm twenty-three. And I never get sick."

"Evidence to the contrary right in front of me, bud." Mac was absently massaging his forehead, and realizing it, he refrained from any reply. "You really ought to just be sure, bud. We walk in tomorrow for my appointment with you lookin' like this, Thornton will literally make taking care of yourself a boss-level directive."

Mac could feel a line deepening across his forehead, to go with the ache behind it. "I don't need anyone who thinks they're in charge of me making going to the doctor for no reason a contingency of their approval or anything else."

There was more anger in Mac's tone than he was expecting. It seemed like as good a time as any to maybe reveal that he was aware of a complicated history around admitting to illness. He hoped it wouldn't get Bozer in trouble. "I … Bozer …"

Mac's eyes flashed. "Bozer what?" he snapped.

Jack figured he was about to owe Bozer an apology visit to The Cheesecake Factory or something. "He … and he was just trying to help, Mac … he kind of told me about you getting upset when you got sick after your mom passed …" Mac's eyes dropped at that, but he stayed quiet. "And he also said your dad was kind of a jerk about it."

"Yeah," Mac finally said quietly.

At that Jack got up and moved to sit next to Mac on the couch. "You were what? Five or six?" Mac nodded, with a little shrug. "You're a rational guy, Mac. I know you must see that you're still making decisions based on how that must've made you feel."

"Don't do that," he said with quiet seriousness. "Don't Psych 101 me, Jack."

"I don't mean it like that, Mac," he said softly, putting a hand on Mac's shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

"It's not that anyway," Mac insisted. Jack just raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "I hate …" He paused, deciding not to finish that thought, instead choosing to share something he knew Jack would understand. "After that he also dragged me to the doctor if I got so much as a paper cut. And he always acted pissed off about it, too. So it was like it was a punishment. For the next five years." Mac sighed heavily.

"You finally get fed up and tell 'im off?" Jack asked, trying to lighten things back up, mostly because he couldn't stand the sorrowful look on Mac's face.

"I've never told him off," he said quietly. "But I'm damned well not … I don't even know."

He sighed again. Acquiescence was honestly easier than more of this conversation.

"Okay, fine. Let's go." Mac got slowly to his feet.

"Wait, seriously?" Jack said, almost incredulous. "You're gonna just go to the infirmary? Just like that?"

"I'm clearly not going to get you to lay off on this whole 'Listen to me, Carl's Junior, I'm your overwatch' thing you're doing."

Having gotten his way more easily than he anticipated, Jack grinned, getting up off the couch. "Not ever."


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N - Seems like everyone was interested in more sick grumpy Mac. I hope this delivers! ~ J_

Jack was sitting in the waiting room of the company infirmary, which functioned as doctor's office, emergency room, small hospital, and research facility given the nature of their work (public and otherwise), thumbing through the latest issue of _Guns and Ammo_ , when one of the other security guys sat down next to him, a badly broken hand wrapped and iced while he was waiting for them to book a surgical repair for him.

"Hey, Daniels," Jack said without really looking up.

"Hey, Dalton. How you doing? I heard your last assignment had more than its fair share of local color."

"You could say that. But I'm good. Better," he answered, not entirely paying attention.

Ross Daniels made a face. He hated being the bearer of bad news. Especially to Jack Dalton who was well known for his temper and a tendency to act before he considered consequences thoroughly. Made him a hell of a security guy but also made knowing him a little complicated. Ross was also pretty full of pain medication for his absolutely mangled hand so he knew his thoughts and reactions weren't exactly up to speed. He decided to approach this slowly. "Your little science nerd buddy is MacGyver, right?"

Jack looked up like something startled him. "Yeah?"

"Um, so I just overheard two of the nurses talking …"

"About what? Is he okay? Is he …"

"Calm down, Jack, Jesus," the man said starting to chuckle. That wasn't pissed off about to flip out Jack Dalton, that was something Daniels wasn't familiar with; tentative, worried Dalton. Hmmm. "Anyway," he said once he was sure he had Jack's attention again. "These two nurses were talking and I guess a certain lab tech just told off Don Foster none too quietly and is either going to walk out or get bounced from the infirmary if whatever's going on between the two of them keeps up."

Jack squeezed his eyes shut for a split second in an 'of course that's what's happening' expression. "Shit, man, if I'd known Foster was the doc on duty I'd have taken the kid to the emergency room instead."

"Too late now, Dalton. But, you know how Foster is. You might want to go talk the kid down."

Jack got up, tossing the magazine onto the coffee table. "Thanks, Ross," he said, heading through the doors an unfamiliar buzz cut-sporting ginger guy in the company's ubiquitous green scrubs led Mac about a half hour before.

Only one of the doors was closed, indicating an occupant, so Jack figured he'd found Mac pretty quickly. He tapped on the door and heard a sharp, "What now?" that told him he was right.

Jack knew that tone. It was the voice of one completely done with everyone Angus MacGyver that didn't show itself that often. He opened the door slowly just in case Mac had decided to get inventive with his displeasure. Nothing fell on him and there was no fire or small explosions so he figured that was a good sign, and stepped inside.

He'd seen Mac injured before, seen him sick even, and he'd certainly seen him unhappy, but Jack didn't think he'd ever seen a more forlorn looking human being in his entire life, if it was possible to look forlorn while also looking so pissed off the drapes were in danger of catching on fire from the glare Mac was sending toward the door.

The second he realized it was Jack though, his expression changed into one that was both hopeful and wary. He tossed the pen and clipboard he'd been holding off toward the foot of the gurney he was resentfully sitting on. "Jack!" he said with forced cheerfulness. "Awesome. I was hoping somebody found you for me so we can get out of here."

Jack took in the unused IV kit still sitting on the counter, the unworn hospital gown wadded up next to it, and the half filled out paperwork Mac had just casually discarded. "If you're okay to get out of here, how come you didn't just come find me?" Jack asked, sitting down in the chair off to the side of the gurney, making it clear that there was a minimum of a conversation between Mac and his objective of going through that door.

Mac puffed out a long sigh through his bottom lip, making it blow his hair out of his face as his eyes searched the ceiling like the answer to Jack's question might be found there. Finally, he looked at Jack again. "Okay, so maybe nobody has said I can leave, but they already ran all their tests, so there's no reason I shouldn't. I work here. It's not like they don't know how to get ahold of me if something's positive."

Jack didn't say anything for a minute, just looked at Mac until the younger man shifted uncomfortably. Deciding directly contradicting Mac wasn't going to end well at the moment, instead he asked, "What's with the paperwork?"

Mac rolled his eyes. "The same forty freaking pages I filled out when I started working here is what. I bothered to look up all that garbage when I wanted the job and came in here to establish a health record for the employee clinic, but if they want to know it again they can look it up."

He didn't add that he'd thought it was ridiculous to begin with. He didn't need a health record at work. He built things in a lab. He wasn't about to seek medical treatment for a papercut. He also didn't add that his headache was breathtaking and the idea of squinting at all those lengthy, specific questions again nearly made him want to cry. Or throw something. Yeah, the second thing. Definitely.

"That's fair," Jack said with a nod.

That stuff drove him nuts, too. If they weren't going to save the information in some way that was easy to access then they could do without it as far as he was concerned. Jack hated paperwork in all forms anyway. Generally he got creative with it to entertain himself. Of course, he more than half suspected that medical types made you fill out tons of paperwork and answer a million questions to distract you from either how long you were waiting, or what they wanted to do to you.

"What about that?" Jack tipped his chin at the IV kit on the counter.

Mac glared at him for a second then grumped. "Not a chance. I'm conscious, able to eat and drink on my own, and they are so bad at finding a vein I think I would have been better off if they'd turned out the lights and just thrown darts at me to get me to bleed."

Jack processed for the first time that Mac was wearing his coat and it was zipped up, either because he was cold, or to make it clear that anything under it was now off limits. Jack decided not to ask which. "So they took some blood? What for?"

Now Mac got up and just leaned against the bed, jamming his hands into his pockets to stop himself from fidgeting in real irritation. "To test for typhoid, which is the stupidest things I've ever heard a medical professional try to justify in my entire life." Jack didn't ask the question out loud, but he did ask it with his expression. Mac huffed. "First of all even if we hadn't been being insanely careful which we have been, I've only been anywhere near you for four days. The minimum incubation period for typhoid is eight to fourteen days, so even if I'm actually sick, which I'm not, I couldn't be sick from _that_. Secondly, Thornton made me get the vaccine which is maybe the second stupidest thing I've heard all week relative to medicine, because that takes fourteen days to be effective and can show up as a false positive in lab tests for typhoid! And by the way causes fevers just like this!"

Starting to understand a little more why Mac maybe lost his temper a bit with Dr. Don 'It's Standard Protocol' Foster, Jack asked, "Did you happen to mention that to the doc?"

Another deep eye roll. "Of course I did," he snapped.

Mac was not one to keep quiet if he thought he was right or thought protocol should be questioned, even in Basic, if everything Jack had heard from Mac, and elsewhere, was true.

"And what did he say?" Jack asked calmly, pretty sure from the flash in Mac's eyes that this was the moment Foster had lost all hope of a cooperative patient.

"That bone marrow is a more accurate tissue to look at to assess early typhoid infection," he replied, his eyes narrowing once again with anger, and a little something else.

"Wow. Was he serious?" Jack said, mildly horrified that either such a thing was necessary (or likely to be proposed to clear him for duty) or that a doctor would say something like that just in response to being questioned.

"Probably. The asshole." Mac's frown deepened. "Just … you know … I came in here trying to be a responsible person, take care of myself, make my friend feel better, too, and what do I get? _Threatened._ That's what that was, Jack. A threat. Of something unpleasant and unnecessary because he figured it would shut me up."

Mac swallowed hard then, wincing a little at the slight twinge it caused. If his throat hadn't hurt before, it did now, after it had been scraped with what felt to Mac like a wire brush, no matter how much it had looked like a cotton swab. He didn't have to say to Jack that feeling a little like medicine was a threat was not a new feeling for him, nor was it one he intended to relive for no good reason. He could tell from Jack's expression that the conversation they'd had back at his place was still are the forefront of his mind.

"I'm sorry as hell kid, cuz it sure sounds like it." He paused. "So why didn't you just tell 'im no and avoid bleeding at all?"

Mac sighed, sitting down again on the edge of the gurney. "Because as stupid as testing me for typhoid is, the nurse said it was also for a complete blood count and other stuff, in case it was something else. He said it would be bad if you got another infection right now, which makes sense since your immune system is compromised by both the infection and the high doses of antibiotics and …"

"Thanks, kid," Jack said with a soft smile. Count on Mac to put up with something, even if it made him miserable, if someone else was involved, too.

Mac shrugged, looking around the small room, mostly because the fond way Jack looked at him at times like these made him feel … well, he didn't know exactly, but he didn't know how to deal with it either.

When Mac didn't explain further, Jack asked, "If they were going to poke you anyway, why not just let them start the IV, Mac? I mean … You were … _are_ if how red your cheeks are is any indication … kind of burning up, and you were out cold for a really long time … Seems like maybe some fluids wouldn't be the worst thing that ever happened to you. Remember when we both got heat exhaustion hiding out in those metal garbage cans up in Kunduz?"

"Yeah, well, they didn't decide it was a good idea until after the clearly nearsighted and bad at listening nurse had already stabbed me about fifty times. Seriously, darts in the the dark would have left less damage."

Jack noticed that now Mac looked half amused at his own metaphor which was a good sign that fever and fury aside, he was probably thinking pretty clearly. Jack imagined fifty was an exaggeration, but also figured that however many times he'd been poked was probably a little bit of why he had his coat on at the moment. Jack knew from a couple of notable and frightening experiences as the kid's overwatch that he had rotten veins and no patience for anyone sticking them even if they were good at it. "So after using you for a voodoo doll, that's when the doc decided to order an IV, huh? That what you told him off over?" Jack asked.

Mac ran a hand through his hair, making a face at how damp and sweaty it was and how clammy his skin felt, even to him. "Who says I told him off?" he asked, cocking a skeptical eyebrow.

"Apparently everybody who could hear you through these not terribly well insulated walls," Jack chuckled. "So was that it?"

Mac shrugged. "Among other things ... He threatened to get me in trouble with Thornton, too, because he said this was … I don't remember what long winded bullshit he wrapped it up in … Jesus that guy loves the sound of his own voice and somebody ought to point out that it sounds like biting on foil feels … Anyway ... it amounted to 'it's work related' and implied that if I wanted to keep my job I was just going to have to cooperate with whatever he said and then he stomped out. I was just sitting here deciding if he was serious and if he was how much I actually like working here when you came in."

The long speech seemed like it took the last of the wind out of Mac's sails and his shoulders slumped a little. Jack got up and leaned against the gurney next to where Mac was sitting. "Thornton's not gonna get on your case on the word of Don Foster, kid," Jack offered. "Guy has a bit of a reputation with a certain element around here."

"So why doesn't she fire him if he's just miserable to people and makes them want to not access basic health care?" Jack considered that question a bit of a victory, because it was more or less Mac acknowledging that he knew coming in had been a good idea, he just didn't like how things had gone up to this point.

He grinned. "She keeps him around because he's actually a hell of a trauma doc and that comes in handy sometimes."

Mac frowned at that revelation. Then Jack winked at him, like he was letting him in on a secret. Something about it made Mac want to grin, but his head was too fuzzy to sort out what at the moment. "So I'm not gonna get in trouble with the boss, you get that this guy is the world's biggest shit … Can we go now? I'll chug NyQuil and lay on your couch until you give me your personal blessing to move, I swear."

Jack's smile said he was sympathetic, but that he wasn't about to just agree with Mac. The younger man did what he thought was an admirable job at keeping his eye roll to a bare minimum. "How about I go talk to Thornton and make sure I wasn't putting the cart before the horse saying you're all good? Then, we'll maybe get a doc in here you can stand the sight of … and a nurse who doesn't desperately need glasses, just to be sure you're actually good to go before you decide to go for an afternoon run across town just to get out of here. Okay?"

Mac shrugged, not concealing his sigh particularly well, but also not inclined to argue. What Jack was proposing was shockingly reasonable. "Fine."

Jack moved to go take care of things, but he turned back to Mac before he opened the door. He thought maybe Mac would take it better coming from him this time. "Unless you're actually cold, you might want to consider taking off your coat, bud. I don't want to be the one to break it to you, but based on the last fourteen or so hours, between your fever and how long you were out …"

Mac didn't even bother to conceal his annoyed puff of breath this time. "Yeah, you already said all that," he grumped, but he did start to unzip his jacket.

"You could just make everybody's life easier and make yourself less sweaty and uncomfortable and change …"

"No," Mac said flatly.

"I thought you'd decided to be all reasonable now, Mac," Jack said with a grin, knowing he was just poking the bear at this point.

"Jack if I opened those cabinets there's probably at least six things I could use to blow a hole in this wall and just leave without ever having to walk by the front desk. Don't test me." He was smiling, but his eyes said he wasn't really in the mood for Jack to start kidding around at the moment.

"Probably? Like you didn't look the minute they left you alone in here," Jack snorted and Mac was surprised into laughing a little too. Part of it was how Jack said it, and the other part was that it was absolutely true. And there were only four things that would be even remotely useful. But still.

Mac smirked this time and despite his somehow sweaty and dried out all at once appearance and his coal red cheeks, the expression made Jack feel about ninety percent better. "Fair enough. So you know I'm prepared."

Jack chuckled. "Alright, kid, I'll be back in a few. We'll get you all sorted out."

Mac's face screwed up into an expression that was at once tentative and stubborn. "I'm not staying here."

"Jeez, bud, how fast do you want me to move, you just barely agreed to let me go get someone …"

"I meant overnight, Jackass," Mac laughed a little.

"Alright, I hear ya," Jack said, about to close the door behind himself.

"And if someone thinks that IV is still a good idea they get one try. One. I mean it."

"I will be sure to pass that along," Jack said, actually really grinning now.

He had the door almost closed when something else occurred to Mac. "And if Foster walks back in here … I'm going to pretend I'm you after you got grounded in Nari Saraj."

Jack turned back around fully. "I thought we agreed we'd never talk about that again."

"You said I could mention the part where you clocked that second lieutenant." Mac grinned. "The terms were that I couldn't mention you being a big baby and me decking …"

"If he comes back, you'll punch Foster. Duly noted," Jack interrupted. He closed the door before Mac could mention any more details of that particular story.

0-0-0

It was dinner time and Mac was still occupying a bed in the infirmary.

Jack had gotten a replacement doctor who had made himself a friend of Jack his first week working here over an incident he couldn't yet tell Mac about and who Mac seemed to take to almost immediately. Reassuring but matter-of-fact and he answered questions immediately even admitting if he didn't know instead of deflecting.

Mac still hadn't changed into a gown. But he had agreed to move to one of the treatment rooms, taken off his boots and gotten comfortable in the bed, letting the nurse bring him warm blankets after she'd expertly started his IV in the back of his hand where he asked her to do it with one nearly painless stick. Jack thought that the fact that she was fresh out of college and very chatty about how much she loved her science coursework, and was also sweet, smart, and extremely pretty may have had something to do with Mac's agreeability.

Jack nearly cracked up when Mac gave the nurse his most charming grin as she delivered his dinner. "Thank you so much, Rachel."

"You are so welcome, Mac," she said with a very genuine smile. Then as she was fiddling with the IV, she added. "I don't know what Anthony was talking about. You're a model patient."

Mac glared at Jack when the older man barked a short surprised laugh. "I guarantee that is the first time Mac has ever heard those words, ever in his whole life."

She narrowed her eyes at him and he couldn't tell if it was teasing or if he'd actually bugged her a little. "I'll remember to use my experience with your friend here as a metric for the next time you're here with us, Mr. Dalton," she said sweetly.

"Yeah, do that. Jack's never heard he was a model anything. Except maybe prisoner …" This time Mac laughed.

"Keep it up, kid. I'm your ride home, now, remember?" Jack said with a grin, pleased to see Mac relaxed and acting more like himself again.

He almost immediately regretted bringing up the ride home because Mac immediately looked at Rachel and Jack could almost hear him mentally calculating how charming he needed to be to get the information he wanted, to get his way but not come off like he was flirting with her. If he met her in a bar he'd definitely flirt with her, and that was pretty obvious, but here, sick, sweaty, and feeling less than dignified, knowing other staff had talked trash about him, he wasn't about to so much as suggest they have coffee. Ever.

Then Mac cleared his throat. "So, hey, um … how come that IV is taking so long to finish. I've gotten fluids before when I was in the Army and I was in and out in like an hour. This has been …" He looked around the room and frowned when he noticed for the first time that there wasn't a clock. He also realized his coat was hanging on a hook across the room and had his phone in his pocket. "Um … longer than that," he finished with what he hoped was another charming smile.

The smile she gave him back said so far she liked him very much as far as patients went, but that she was wary of any pushback after the storytelling Tony had done and the way Dr. Foster had been harumphing around before the end of his shift. "It's taking so long on purpose, Mac. We don't have your labs back yet and your fever is pretty high. You may need medication yet. Don't want to throw your electrolyte balance off by administering too many fluids, but Dr. Anderson didn't want to wait because you were starting to show signs of dehydration and …"

"How long?" he interrupted, softening it by maintaining his smile, but his tone implied that his patience was starting to think a little.

She turned to face him fully so he wouldn't feel her answer was dismissive. "Until we hear what Dr. Anderson recommends, Mac. Right now I've got you set up for about ten milliliters per hour. Just enough to get you fluids and keep the line open."

Mac squinted at the bag hanging on the pole next to his bed. The headache, which he would freely admit did feel better now that he'd been resting and getting fluids for a while, made reading taxing. "Ten an hour? That bag is two hundred fifty milliliters! I already said I'm not …"

"Relax, Mac," she said, patting his arm. "Nobody has said anything about trying to keep you here tonight, right?"

"No, but …"

"Then why are you worried about it?"

One corner of his mouth lifted, and Jack thought maybe the kid blushed a little, but the fever made it a little hard to tell. Mac shrugged. "Always be prepared?" he said with another charming smile.

"What? Were you a Boy Scout?" she asked, going about taking his vitals again while he was distracted by their conversation.

"Never voluntarily," he said lightly and then he paused when she put the digital thermometer in his ear. "Better?" he asked when it beeped.

"Not worse," she said pleasantly. "I'll go see if your test results are back and maybe find Dr. Anderson for you, Mac. He'll be able to give you a better time frame."

He sighed and started poking at his dinner with his fork. "Thanks," he said in a voice that had her exchanging a look with Jack.

After she left, Jack watched Mac move food around on his plate for a minute or two. "You know what's really good for convincing medical types that they can cut you loose?"

"Lemme guess. Eating your dinner?" he said with an almost irritated smirk, but he did shovel a bit of mashed potato in his mouth.

He'd managed to eat about a third of the food, despite having literally no interest in it when Dr. Anderson entered at almost the same moment as he tapped on the door, followed by Nurse Rachel. "How are you feeling, Mac?" he asked, studying Mac's face carefully, but not in a way that made Mac feel like he was prying for hidden meaning in his response.

"Okay," Mac shrugged. "Pretty much wondering when I can get outta here more than anything now. Which you're here to tell me is soon, right?"

The doctor who had at least ten years on Jack chuckled in a way that could only be described as with fatherly amusement. "If that slight note of desperation I hear is about whether or not I'm going to try to hold you prisoner in the infirmary overnight, you can relax." Mac's face immediately brightened. "The beds here are lumpier than my bunk back in my early days in the Navy. I try not to inflict them on anyone, even patients I don't like, unless there isn't any other choice."

Mac grinned then and looked over at Jack as if to say, 'See I don't have to stay, so there', and it made Jack almost want to laugh, and if he wasn't plain relieved that Anderson didn't think Mac was sick enough to need to be here, he would have. Outwardly, Jack just chuckled. "You mighta just made yourself a friend for life, Doc."

"Besides, rumor has it that even if I tried you'd use whatever is in the cabinets to blast your way out … that was it wasn't it?" He smiled at Mac's reaction to Jack ratting him out. Mac's expression said he'd only been kidding. Probably. "Just want to verify, no antibiotic allergies, right?"

"No, sir, not that I know of," Mac answered. Questions like that meant they were headed into treat and release territory. He was all about the release part.

"Good. Rachel if you would, please?" He nodded toward the nurse who immediately hooked up a small bag of something to the existing IV and made a few adjustments.

"It'll go much faster now, Mac," she said with a bright smile, which he returned, much happier with that than her earlier answer.

More concerned with the why of it than the how fast Mac could get out of here, Jack asked, "What's he need the antibiotics for, Doc? He didn't get sick takin' care of me, did he?"

"No, Jack. He's got a mild strep infection. Combine that with a nasty reaction to the typhoid vaccine and getting a little run down looking out for a friend, it's no surprise he spiked a fever." He switched his attention to Mac who was clearly more interested in the problem solving aspects of the situation than the clinical details. "We're going to push some antibiotics and antipyretics for the infection and fever now that we know what the cause is, and then we'll send you home for some enforced rest for a couple of days. Sound good?"

"Yeah, sure." He took an iced ginger ale from Rachel almost without thinking and started sipping through the straw. She'd figured out early that if she asked if he needed anything he'd say he was fine, so she stopped asking and just started bringing him what she knew he ought to have. She'd gotten several approving looks from Jack that made her feel better about releasing her patient into his care. "Thanks," Mac said after the first blessedly cool drink.

Jack waved for the doctor's attention again. "We're sure he didn't get typhoid … because …"

Anderson shook his head. "There's no way he'd be symptomatic based on when he could have been exposed. Besides, I reviewed his service records and in all likelihood still has some protection from the series he received when he was deployed." Anderson paused. "There was no point in administering that vaccine on Tuesday and certainly no point in testing him today."

"That's what I said!" Mac agreed enthusiastically. Then he sat back a little. "Sorry, that was loud."

"You weren't loud, bud, just very convinced you were right," Jack said fondly.

"It felt loud. My head is killing me," he admitted.

"You sure he should leave, Doc?" Jack asked, suddenly worried again. Mac admitting to pain in front of a medical professional was enough to give him fits.

"Oh no you don't, Jack! He said home, and I'm going, and you have to drive me, you already said you would if Dr. Anderson said I could go and he did. Get your keys, old man." He glanced over at the IV. "Better warm up your car in like twenty minutes, tops."

The doctor patted Mac's shoulder this time, thinking to himself that he'd seen Mac around the building and there was always something strangely old about him, like he'd experienced more life than someone should be able to pack into twenty-three years. But right now, sick and vulnerable, and definitely overly focused on going home because something about being here just bothered this young man in a way he wasn't saying, he seemed almost impossibly young. "Speaking of going home, son, I do recommend that you not stay alone. Your fever is still quite high. I'll feel better about cutting you loose if I know someone will be around to keep and eye on you until it comes down and stays down."

"He can stay with me," Jack answered before Mac had a chance to reply that he had a roommate.

"That is a plan I definitely approve of. Both of you come in tomorrow at your scheduled time, Jack, so we can reevaluate that fever. Agreed?" he asked Mac.

"I ... I mean … will you be here though?"

The doctor concealed his smile. He could hardly blame the kid. "I will be, by special request of Director Thornton."

Mac didn't even care if his boss was butting in at this point. He wasn't in trouble, he did sort of feel a little better, and he was getting to go home. Okay, not home, but Jack's couch was the next best thing, and Jack was definitely a less irritating pinch hitter as a nurse than Bozer, who would call Mrs. Bozer and the two of them would fuss over him endlessly. "Okay, then yeah, agreed."

Not long after, Mac was in his sweats, with a t-shirt borrowed from Jack because his were all dirty or sweaty, under a heavy knit comforter, on Jack's couch. He was dozing off almost as soon as his head hit the cool pillow. Jack dimmed all the lights and got changed for bed himself, checking on Mac one last time before heading to bed. He smiled slightly when. without opening his eyes, Mac reached out for the orange gatorade on the coffee table, took a long sip through the straw, put it back, and rolled over, looking content.

"G'night, kid," Jack said quietly before turning out the last light and heading in to bed, too.


	15. Chapter 15

Mac's sleep was frequently disturbed and, as a result, often not terribly restful, but, for a change, this time it was by design.

Not wanting to risk just racking out for half a day again and getting dehydrated, he knew when they got home that he needed a plan. When Jack left the room to change for bed, after getting Mac several pillows, a bunch of blankets including one his Nana had knit for him specially, and putting an entire package of crackers and a six pack of Gatorade on ice in addition to the one he set in easy reach with a straw in it on the coffee table, Mac lay there trying to figure something out.

His eureka moment came when he remembered the very nice running/fitness watch Penny Parker had gotten him as a 'welcome home I'm glad you didn't get killed because you were dumb and joined the Army' present (her words from the accompanying card) had a vibrating silent alarm.

He was happy he was still wearing it because he didn't have the energy to go get anything. Just changing and taking care of his nightly bathroom routine had felt like running a marathon wearing wet fatigues and a full pack. He set it for every two hours.

 _That ought to do it_ , he thought, letting his eyes close, feeling like weights were attached to his lids.

He was just about asleep when he jolted back to semi-lucidness.

What if it didn't wake him up and he just slept for too long and got dehydrated again that way? He had no interest in another hours-long stint in the infirmary, especially since letting himself go that far again would put Jack in full Overwatch mode. He wouldn't take no for an answer if Mac woke up in the same shape again. That would mean he'd have no idea what staff he might have to put up with at work, and Foster and any nurse in cahoots with him were on Mac's permanent shit list.

He blearily reached out and grabbed the open Gatorade and took as long a drink as he could stand. He managed to put it back without spilling it or opening his eyes.

He woke for most of his frequent alarms and drank several of the sports drinks by the time Jack woke him the following so they could both head back to the infirmary, where he was relieved to be told he was responding well to the medicine he'd been given.

His plan continued to work for a while. Finally though, on the afternoon of the third day, Jack noticed the alarm after Mac had dozed off, and asked the one question Mac had hoped to avoid.

Well, first he'd just asked about the alarm. Then he'd asked how often Mac had been disturbing his doctor-prescribed rest. After Mac answered both of those questions, looking at the backs of his hands like a kid caught cheating on a spelling test, Jack got up from his seat on the other side of the coffee table.

Sitting down next to Mac, Jack looked a little hurt and asked, "Why are you always so determined to do everything for yourself, bud? I told ya I was gonna take care of you just like you did for me. Didn't you trust me to do that?"

Mac looked at him, then away. "You have been taking care of me, pal. Such good care it's been driving me a little crazy. But I know that's how you are." He looked back and gave Jack a small smile, but Jack didn't immediately return it. Mac tried again. "You know I trust you, Jack. With my life, man. Doesn't giving you my back while you had a sniper rifle count?"

Both of Jack's eyebrows climbed, not in annoyance but it an expression that said he was a whisker away from amusement at Mac's attempt at a bullshit answer. Guilt Jack Wyatt Dalton into shutting up? Maybe his Nana could do it, but not some skinny kid with a silly hamburger name.

Instead of saying so though, he just shrugged and said, "Counts for somethin'." He waited a beat. "But you know that's not what I'm talkin' about, bud."

For a brief moment Mac thought he knew exactly how to end the conversation amicably. He put on his best sheepish, half embarrassed smirk. It was the one he'd always used on Bozer and his folks when they fussed over him when he and Boze were kids.

"The alarm thing … it's dumb," he said. He sounded exactly the right amount of embarrassed, he thought.

"Yeah? Well, why doncha tell me about it anyway. I'm the king of dumb moves in this friendship, kid."

Jack still sounded concerned, but he no longer sounded hurt. His play was working pretty well, Mac thought. "When we first got back you were still technically out sick … and I didn't want to bother you or …"

"You are never a bother, kid. And if I wasn't okay to look out for you I wouldn't have offered. You know that."

Mac's mouth twisted in an actual genuine grin now. "You and I both know that's not true. I don't want to bring up having to drop you up in Helmond again, but, you're making it tough, pal."

Jack finally smiled a little. "Knock that shit off, you brat." He shook his head but his expression was fond. "But even if you were actually worried about how I was doing … and I'm not sayin' I'm buyin' it … it doesn't explain what you were doing or why you really felt the need."

Mac squirmed under Jack's gaze and it was definitely not a put on. He'd really thought Jack would drop it after he mentioned the day he'd gotten Jack out of a flat out panic attack by dropping him like a sack of crap outside a little village in northern Afghanistan. He saw one possible way out.

"Look, I just felt so bad and so warm … and it was late … I mean I guess it wasn't, but we were both tired. I got worried I'd sleep right through without drinking and …" he paused strategically. "I didn't want to wind up needing an IV again so I just set the alarm … and it was working so well I just stayed with it." He shrugged.

Jack was starting to smell a rat. "And?" he prompted.

"I didn't want to say anything … I felt kind of like a wuss being worried about it," he shrugged again. "Telling the guy you decked over panicking about a a really big needle … and I know I'm sorry I'll stop mentioning it … that you're in a twist over a little tiny … like needles don't usually bother me much …"

"Oh really?" Jack said, at once sounding skeptical of Mac's answer and embarrassed over the memory Mac had subtlety brought up several times.

Mac looked at Jack and shrugged with another sheepish smile. "I mean, nobody likes them, Jack. Just most of us don't turn into … well, into you ... when faced with the prospect."

Mac was pretty sure that did it when Jack blushed a little. Then Jack cocked an eyebrow. "I'll buy that you really didn't want to end up back on an IV, because A) that first nurse riddled you with holes, and B) 'don't bother' you is probably an overstatement."

Mac tried interrupting. "You've never said why they freak you out so much. Did you date a nurse and it ended badly or something and you're holding a grudge against the tools of her trade?" he teased.

Jack wasn't exactly proud of some of his quirky fears, like he didn't advertise that black cats actually gave him the shivers, but being afraid of needles was so common that he'd never once had a medical professional so much as comment on it beyond trying to help him relax a little. And it was the perfect opening to move this talk along and get at what was really eating Mac that had him building walls again all of a sudden. He gave a self deprecating grinning shrug.

"Nah man, I've always been afraid of 'em. Don't you have anything like that that you just can't explain, but you're afraid of it?"

Mac's eyes slid away from Jack's for a second, then quickly back again. He considered denying it then he realized Jack would just call him on it and use it as a way to point out that he was being defensive. It had happened before. "You know I do."

Jack nodded and patted Mac on the shoulder. "Yes I do. Which you've never had a problem just talking about with me." He heard Mac pull in a breath and hold it. "So why clam up about something you're afraid of now? And I don't mean you suddenly pretending to be actually afraid of much of anything physical other than being up off the ground." Mac let out the breath slowly. "So you wanted to avoid the infirmary again."

"Yes," Mac said, sounding relieved. The conversation was getting back on track.

"But I don't think you were necessarily worried enough about an IV needle or anything else that might happen at the company infirmary that you made such a weird decision, kid." Jack's eyes bored into Mac's. "I think this is more about what you told me before we ever set foot in the infirmary."

Mac swallowed hard and he and Jack both heard the click of it. He stalled by reaching for his ginger ale, his beverage of choice since he'd gotten up for the day. "Sure, you're probably right."

Jack shook his head, clenching his jaw. He was trying not to get annoyed, but he'd worked so hard to ever get Mac to trust him at all, it did hurt a little more than he'd expected it to when he saw Mac's old walls start to go back up. Agreeing with whatever he said was classic Carl's Junior from early days. "I don't need you to tell me I'm right. I definitely know it already."

Another classic move was the eye roll. But Mac stayed quiet.

"I think we talked about your parents, and I think the way Foster treated you reminded you of your dad and I know you don't like to talk about any of that stuff. And you were still sick and miserable and maybe I also kinda did drag you into the infirmary too and that probably didn't help. So you just decided to deal with everything you needed on your own so nobody would remind you of it again, either by taking care of you or letting you down and not."

Mac gave a one shouldered shrug. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe."

Jack gave his shoulder a squeeze. "You never told him off you said. Maybe you oughta get it off your chest and yell at him, then you'll feel better and stop …"

"Couldn't if I wanted to, Jack. He left and I don't know how to reach him. I haven't heard from him in years."

Jack's stomach dropped. Wow. He'd suspected something like that but he'd never really pushed and Mac definitely didn't offer. He knew Mac had lived with his grandfather a little, knew Mac's dad hadn't been around much. "Jesus, kid, I'm so sorry. Years, huh?" Mac just nodded. "I wish this hadn't brought all that up for you, Mac."

Mac shrugged again, like it didn't matter, but what came out of his mouth was, "Me too." He puffed out a long sigh. "I got used to taking care of myself Jack. And I got a lot of practice at it. You and Boze … I trust you. I do. But sometimes all that practice is just a stronger habit." He sighed a second time. "I'm working on it."

Jack nodded. "I can see that, kid. That's why I mentioned it."

Mac yawned hugely. "So if I took another nap would you wake me up in a couple hours so I can …"

"Absolutely, kid. Like I've been tellin' you for a while now, I got your back. Even when you're not using' the big ole Einstein melon of yours so good."

Mac felt something about himself relax just a little. "Thanks, Jack."


	16. Chapter 16

It wasn't that Mac didn't appreciate what Jack was doing for him … he did. But by the end of the weekend, Mac was starting to go a little stir crazy. At least he hoped that was all Jack read it as.

He'd been having nightmares for days, and not just the ones he'd almost gotten used to like his dream of chasing down the Mazari and his teammates, but dreams of his childhood, of losing his mother, of how his relationship with his father had changed after that, of his dad leaving.

Of course his body had also betrayed him late Saturday night, with his fever spiking back up over a hundred and two again. Of course, Jack had, what had Jack called it? Gently encouraged, Mac thought was what he'd said after the fact, an understatement which had earned Jack a solid punch on the arm.

Anyhow, gently encouraged, threatened to knock him on his ass and throw him over his shoulder, whatever. It had amounted to Mac going back to the infirmary, being told his current antibiotics weren't cutting it, being given new ones, and then being told he could come back in on Tuesday and if all was well then he could come back to work.

He was fairly grouchy about it, but by Sunday evening he realized that grouchy was all it was. He had no good reason to be as annoyed with Jack or Dr. Anderson as he was, he just hated being sick, and more than that, he hated being bored, and by then he felt better enough to be bored.

Jack was back to work Monday morning and unsurprisingly he woke Mac up before he left so he could fix him breakfast. Jack was a surprisingly good cook, but Mac was forbidden to tell anyone, lest Bozer start expecting Jack to cook instead of making Boze make his heavenly burgers several nights a week.

Jack did his usual thing where he tried to be really subtle about asking how Mac was, making sure he took his medicine, and had everything he needed before he left, but also as usual, subtle wasn't really Jack's thing.

Part of Mac wanted to be totally exasperated with Jack's not so lowkey fussing, but another part thought affectionately that sometimes Jack totally unintentionally reminded him of what he pictured his Grandpa Harry being like as a younger man. He'd had the same completely affectionate, sometimes heavy handed but quietly teasing manner when trying to get Mac to slow down and see the big picture about something.

Instead of snapping that he knew how to take care of himself thank you very much after Jack's third "You sure you're feeling better enough to be on your own?" of the morning, Mac just grinned and rolled his eyes.

"Jack, I'm fine. I had strep. Not even all that bad. If it wasn't for feeling like trash from that vaccine, my body might have fought it off on its own. I'll take it easy today, go see Doc Anderson tomorrow just like he said, and be back at work by lunchtime. And maybe be back in my own house and my own bed tonight." Jack's eyebrows climbed. "If that's okay with you, Mr. Overwatch," Mac teased.

Jack shook his head and just stuffed his wallet in his back pocket and picked up his keys. "We'll see. You ever gonna grow out of being a brat? Askin' for a friend?"

Mac grinned. "Probably not …" Then, because he couldn't quite help himself, he added, "But I mean, I've got a few years before you can totally expect it of me. All the necessary connections for true rational thought and perspective taking in the prefrontal cortex usually don't finish forming until roughly age twenty-five, soooo …"

Jack chuckled as he opened the door to leave. "I don't know what any of that means, so I'm just gonna go. But since you brought up the whole overwatch thing, I'll just say, you park your ass on that couch today, watch tv, drink plenty of fluids, eat the soup Boze dropped off, and maybe have a couple of naps or somethin'. That's an order. Pretend I still outrank you if that helps."

Mac tipped him a sarcastic solute from the sofa. "Yes, sir."

Jack smirked. "You save that sir shit for officers. I was born a gentleman. Didn't take the Army to make me one."

Mac laughed, waving to encourage Jack out the door.

After Jack left, Mac really tried the whole sitting still doing what he was supposed to thing.

It lasted about an hour.

First Mac just decided that he needed a shower and shave to feel like a human being. Then he promised himself he'd park back on the couch. But all getting cleaned up did was point out to him how much better he actually felt. So instead of dressing in clean sleep clothes and lying around, Mac got dressed in his standard jeans, t, and flannel and walked to the market up the street and got a frozen pizza for lunch, which just sounded a lot better than more chicken soup.

Take out was off the table since he didn't have enough cash on him and he refused to raid Jack's secret stash (which amounted to a couple hundred bucks in the back of a book nobody who knew Jack Dalton would ever have accused him of reading). Jack mentioned it before he left, but Mac just didn't feel good about it. When he got back with the pizza, he threw it in the oven, and waited impatiently for it to cook.

He was a little bit smug because he'd walked a couple of blocks in the not inconsiderable heat and instead of it kicking his ass, it kind of made him want to go for a run. When the pizza came out, the smell hit him fully and if he hadn't been alone he'd have been embarrassed at the look he was sure spread over his face. Like a hungry, drooly puppy, he had no doubt. He sliced it into quarter and made no apologies for just grabbing a paper towel to hold it with, not even bothering with a plate.

He stretched back out on the couch, happily munching on his perfectly crispy slice of cheese pizza, his still boot clad feet propped on the coffee table, like he'd seen Jack do almost every time he'd come over since moving to LA, but had never felt comfortable enough to do before. Between Jack's illness and then his own, he'd spent enough time at Chez Dalton the last two weeks that it felt almost as much like home as his place.

Through the first gargantuan slice, Mac just watched part of a little docu-segment on the news channel about tardigrades, a creature that someone who valued adaptability as much as he did found fascinating. When he finished, he sat for a minute, unapologetically licking grease from his fingers. Then he grinned to himself and thought 'screw it, I'm gonna have another'.

He'd barely eaten the last couple of days because he'd felt so lousy and before that he'd been worried about Jack and pretty exhausted (not to mention coming down with this absolutely miserable infection) and he'd been eating kind of light. He was half way through his second slice, or put more accurately, finishing half a pizza all by himself, when he started to take in more details about the apartment for the first time in days.

He began to notice that the apartment was a little on the messy side. He immediately felt a little bad about it. Jack was a very neat guy. It was like that military training had gotten into his blood, hell, into his bones, and he just couldn't not keep things orderly. Mac didn't think he'd ever walked in to Jack's place and seen crumbs on the counter or the bed unmade. As he looked around now, he saw both, not to mention several days newspapers scattered around various tables, the vacuum cleaner unused but parked next to the utility closet, and a full recycling bin next to the door.

He finished his piece of pizza and went and put the rest away in the fridge, carefully wiping up the counter afterward. He stood in the kitchenette for a moment, looking around some more. Jack would probably give him the ass chewing of a lifetime for it since he'd promised Jack he'd do more resting today (regardless of whether or not he felt like he needed it), but he kind of wanted to clean the place up.

He knew Jack had been pretty damned sick at first and was still a little worn out from it, regardless of what line of bull he'd fed Dr. Anderson about how awesome he felt. Mac wasn't about to call him out on it because frankly he felt like he was maybe on the doc's good side at the moment and didn't want Jack butting into his case either.

Combine that with him stepping in to take care of a feverish, not-sleeping, nightmare-having, friend (that Jack chose to wait on hand and foot, admittedly, but the fact that it was a choice wasn't really the point as far as Mac was concerned), and it was no wonder Jack's usual stellar housekeeping had suffered.

Mac glanced at the clock. It was only one thirty. He could clean the place up, have a nap like he'd promised, and maybe even dip in to Jack's money stash to order take out for the two of them (which was different than using the money to order it for himself) by the time Jack got there. And he might still be irritated that Mac hadn't just become one with the couch like he'd promised, but burgers and shakes from the place around the corner delivered as he was getting home would probably soften that a lot.

Mac wanted to say thank you in some way for the way Jack had been looking out for him. If he was honest it wasn't just about his recent illness either. His life felt like it was finally really back on track since Jack had come and invaded that tree stand at the cabin all those months ago.

He looked and felt better than he had since before his discharge from the Army. He liked his job a lot. He and Boze were practically inseparable again, just like all through school. He was living in a house he loved, and part of him regretted not just staying here in LA at the end of that summer after his dad had left.

Gramps had a good job, a girlfriend, a life in Los Angeles. And staying for the summer had been a nice distraction for him after his dad left. But when the fall rolled around, little Angus MacGyver had been found out on the back deck sobbing quietly. He didn't want to change schools, didn't want to leave Mission City. He barely had any friends to begin with and he couldn't imagine starting over in a place as cool as LA. If he was an almost friendless nerd in rural Northern California, what would going to school in a town where there were movie stars be like?

Fortunately, the Bozers had offered that Mac could stay with them. Wilt needed his friend at that time more than ever, and they wanted a noisy, happy, busy home again almost more than anything. Gramps had been so understanding, coming to visit almost every weekend, taking him, and often Boze and Penny too, down to LA for school vacations, for the summers.

And he had Jack back in his life. It was weird, but Mac hadn't really known what it was like to really count on somebody anymore by the time they'd met. Mac had become a singularly self-reliant guy. He was always willing to give of himself for others, but he rarely asked anything in return.

He wouldn't have recognized why at the time, but he thought maybe Jack had a slight point about him not liking to admit vulnerability. Jack hadn't cared if he admitted it or not. Jack's job had been to look out for him when they met, and Jack took that to mean for life and in all things, apparently. Mac had resisted it tooth and nail at first, but by the time he'd come home to take care of his grandfather, Mac had actually missed knowing someone gave a damn.

Not that Bozer didn't care, and didn't try to show it. But Boze sometimes didn't get it, asked the wrong questions, pried too much into what the Army was like and what Mac did there. For one thing, Boze had known Mac long enough to know that unless it was some fact he knew or scientific development he was excited about, he wasn't much of a talker, and for another a lot of Mac's job in the Army was classified. Bozer had gotten upset any number of times when they'd tried to hang out and Mac had said simply that he couldn't talk about something. And Penny was speaking to him again, almost from the minute his plane touched down on American soil. But Jack was different. Jack got it.

Mac smiled to himself as he came back from dumping the recycling out in the apartment building's communal bin. Jack mostly got it, he mentally amended. He was still bound to get a thorough and boring lecture about following orders whether they were from someone who outranked you or a doctor who didn't give a damn how smart you thought you were, which he figured he'd break his buddy of eventually.

Mac started tidying up Jack's small desk next. He bent down to pick up a scrap of paper with a phone number written on it off the floor. That's when he noticed it for the first time, a single drawer locked filing cabinet under the desk. He squatted down to get a better look at it.

"Huh," he said thoughtfully. That was weird. Well, not super weird. Mac had a fireproof safe at his place that had his social security card, his discharge papers, a birthday card his mother had made him when he was little with her own little cartoon of Tommy Pickles from Rugrats on it, important stuff he didn't want to lose. This was probably the same sort of thing.

He turned over the slip of paper in his hands, looking at it more carefully. The phone number started with 757. He could have sworn that was familiar somehow. He thought about it for a minute, rifling through the well-ordered filing cabinet of his mind. Oh yeah, that was the area code for Miles new place. Yorktown, Virginia.

Yorktown, Virginia, which Miles had moved to after the recent unpleasantness Mac had helped him out with, because he'd been offered a job. As an analyst supposedly. With the CIA. Where Jack used to work. Where Jack's contact that was digging into O'Neill and the Mazari was working.

Mac sighed. Jack had been tight lipped about how that was going. He'd tried bringing it up to Jack a couple of times over the weekend, but Jack had shut him down almost immediately. Not in a more typical I'm not going to talk about that because I don't have an answers anyway sort of a way, but more like hey, kid, you're sick, let's not get you all riled up, wanna watch Bill Nye reruns or something kind of way instead. And damn it all, Mac had to admit, it had been effective. Especially when Jack had found some old PBS lectures Neil DeGrasse Tyson had given hiding deep in the documentaries on Netflix.

The answers to his questions might just be in Jack's filing cabinet right now.

Jack's locked filing cabinet.

Mac started opening desk drawers and looking in the little cubbies in the organizer on the desktop, hoping it was one of those not super serious locked filing cabinet situations and there was a key just lying around. Nothing. He moved papers around, even went so far as to check Jack's nightstand before he stopped himself, feeling like a really bad friend. He was being ridiculous, irrational. If Jack had answers, Jack would share them. He'd promised and Jack Dalton took promises insanely seriously.

Mac went back to the living room and sat down on the couch. It was four o'clock now. Jack would be home in a couple of hours and he could ask about it then. What he ought to do is drink a gatorade because he swore Jack counted them before he left, maybe take the nap he'd said he would, and after Jack was back to being agreeable due to excessive amounts of charred cow and blended ice cream, he'd mention the phone number and see what Jack said.

Mac got a sports drink of the counter, not bothering to put it over ice. Once you'd had warmer than body temperature chlorine and iodine adulterated water out of a canteen and been grateful for it, you got a lot less fussy about the temperature or flavor of what you were drinking, Mac had found. He'd sat back down and had a few drinks of it when he felt his forehead crease into a frown almost before he was aware of the thought that was causing it.

Jack had kind of doubled down on his all too familiar protective streak the last couple of days. If Mac was honest, he'd sort of seen it coming. It started the minute Jack had gotten a good look at him out at the cabin and dedicated himself to getting Mac back to civilization and eating regular meals.

Jack had gone full Dad on him, just like he used to to half the guys in their unit and, of course, on him in particular back in Afghanistan. Mac also knew that he'd genuinely worried Jack this week, waking up fighting some unseen assailant like he had, with a fever that was kissing a hundred and three. His friend might not be inclined to let him jump into his end of this investigation yet.

Mac sighed. He was not a patient guy, try though he might to cultivate that particular trait. He guessed he would have to be though. The cabinet was locked and Jack wouldn't be home for a while yet. He sighed again. Well, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell he was going to have any kind of nap now that his brain was turning over the Mazari problem again.

He shifted on the couch. Now he was truly itching to go for a run. But, he wisely thought, Jack would be irritated he'd cleaned the apartment instead of resting. If he came home and Mac had gone out and ran the six or seven miles that were his standard stress reducer, Jack would, quote, flip his shit, end quote.

Jack's apartment had a distressing lack of things to take apart or build. He looked around again. He needed to keep his hands busy or he was going to absolutely lose his mind. His leg was now bouncing up and down with nervous energy. He drained the gatorade and got up to get rid of the container in the newly empty recycling bin. His eyes landed back on the slightly messier than when he'd started desk. Paper clips. That oughta do it. For a few minutes anyway.

Letting him bend, shape, build with, and even destroy paper clips had been something Harry had showed him when he was pretty small to keep his curious mind and restless hands busy. It had been a way to keep him from getting in trouble in school when he had a hard time sitting still, but it had turned into a habit that served him well in all kinds of places and circumstances.

Mac went to the desk to grab a small handful of paper clips to mess around with, but he found himself just standing back, looking at that filing cabinet again. He reached out for the paper clips and turned one of the big ones over and over between his fingers for a minute. His eyes slid back to the simple lock on the filing cabinet.

Ah, man, Jack would be so pissed. But then again, if there was nothing there, Jack wouldn't ever need to know. Mac would just close the cabinet and never say a word. He'd make up his little secret violation of trust to Jack some other way. Besides, he justified to himself, if there was something there, Jack should have shared it with him my now.

Mac put all but the biggest, sturdiest paper clip down on the desk and crouched back down by the cabinet to look at the lock. He didn't even realize that a familiar expression of frank interest had taken over his face. He loved puzzles, problems. A lock was just a puzzle, a problem to be solved. His Grandpa Harry had taught him to pick a lock sort of unintentionally the summer after his mom died.

Gramps had been visiting, well, less visiting and more staying with Mac because once again James was out of town. They'd gone out to eat at The Burger Barn because Harry couldn't cook to save his life or anyone else's and when they got back to the MacGyver house, Harry realized he'd left his keys inside on the table and the door had just locked behind them automatically, as Mac's dad always insisted.

Gramps had said they'd just go next door and call James and ask where the spare key was, because Mac didn't know where his dad kept such a thing. Mac had gotten upset, near tears, shifting from one foot to the other. "Grandpa we can't just … He'll be mad if we bother him at work and he'll yell and I don't want to make him mad so we can just … I don't know, but we can't …"

He probably would have gone on like that or just burst into tears, but Harry had sat down on the steps, making Mac sit too, and just hugged him until he settled down a little, telling him they'd just solve the problem themselves and not to worry. After a couple of minutes, he'd looked up into his grandfather's face. Gramps was always so sure there was a solution. "What do we do?"

Harry had smiled. "What we always do, Gus. We take a deep breath. We think a minute. And we solve the problem." That's exactly what he'd done, too. Mac couldn't remember what he'd used, but it may very well have been a paperclip. He'd bent some piece of wire and used it to open the door, explaining what he was doing to little Gus every step of the way because when he had explanations, young Angus MacGyver, Gus to his grandfather until a few years later when he'd asked him to start calling him Mac like Boze did, was calmer, happier when he had explanations.

Mac smiled a little at the memory. He didn't know what he would have done without Harry. Then he frowned as he felt the tumblers inside slip and the lock click open. In many ways he felt about Jack now the way he'd felt about Harry then. Not that he could say that out loud or acknowledge it in anything more than the most casual offhand way. And this was a betrayal of the trust those men had put in Mac.

Then again, he thought as his frown deepened, Harry had betrayed his trust at least once. Mac had caught him on the phone once when he was thirteen or fourteen and the way Harry had ended the call, the sentence he'd been in the middle of when Mac walked in, well, limped in, he was supposed to be on crutches at the time and he was obstinately not using them to prove he didn't need them, made him sure his grandfather had been on the phone with his father. Mac never asked, sort of didn't want to know at the time, but that little kernel of distrust had stayed with Mac after that. It had made him more reserved with his grandfather. And if Jack had information about the Mazari and what might be happening in LA and he wasn't sharing it with Mac, that was a little betrayal, too.

Mac opened the drawer, tossing the bent paper clip onto the desk. There were file folders full of taxes, old photographs, Jack's discharge paperwork, some banking information, all the same sorts of things that Mac kept in his safe at home. He started to feel a little sick to his stomach.

He shouldn't have done this.

He was going to confess his actions to Jack when he got home and just hope maybe Jack still felt sorry for him because of how miserable he'd been for the last several days. Which Mac thought might be reasonable because after his friend had gotten a look at the many bruises on Mac's arms that had been inflicted on him by Tony Whoeverthehell at Medical, Jack had declared that the guy had a punch face and he wouldn't begrudge Mac a rampage of some sort. Maybe he'd call bygones on this since Mac hadn't actually punched anyone and Jack was a big believer in the idea that pent up anger caused all sorts of bad things to happen to a guy.

He was sheepishly closing the drawer when one of the file folders slipped off the bars holding it up. Mac reached out to fix it. As it slid back into place, Mac saw there was a folder lying flat, underneath the hanging ones. His hand reached out, independent of what his brain was telling him was the right thing to do, and he pulled out what turned out to be a legal-sized mailing envelope.

Written on it in Jack's familiar scrawl was 'Some 007 Shit for Mac'. Damn. Okay. It was what he'd been hoping for at first, but now … he should just put it back, tell Jack what he'd done, plead temporary insanity, and ask to see the contents when Jack was done justifiably freaking out on him.

But that's not what he did.

He opened it and started leafing through the contents. There were a great number of redacted documents with little names and places Mac recognized, but little else. There were pictures, too. Some of them were from the incident that haunted Mac's dreams. There was even one of him, bruised and stitched up and out cold at the base hospital, along with others of the teammates his efforts had seen rescued. As Mac was frowning at a photograph of the compound they'd been rescued from, another small slip of paper a lot like the one with the Virginia phone number fluttered to the floor.

Mac picked it up. On it was neatly printed an address. It was here in Los Angeles. In Inglewood, near Hawthorne. Mac frowned. Lots of warehouses there. He checked the clock again. It was only five thirty. Mac's Jeep was at work because they'd driven Jack's car back to his place last week and of course Jack had taken his car to work today.

No reason he couldn't call a cab though and just see what this address was. He could pick up the take out on his way home. Jack might beat him here, but he'd leave a note that he'd gone to get dinner. He could decide how to handle the conversation with Jack after he saw what this whole thing was.

He called a cab, got his jacket, took a little money out of the secret hiding place so he could get food and maybe a large quantity of beer, and left Jack a quick 'gone out for food' note. He closed the door and locked it behind himself. He realized halfway across town that he'd left the filing cabinet open, and he'd left the folder out on the desk. Jack would know exactly what he was up to.

It wasn't very long before he was glad he'd been so careless.


	17. Chapter 17

"Mac?" Jack called out as he came through the door. "I'm feelin' Chinese … you down?"

When Mac didn't immediately answer, Jack craned his neck to see if Mac was racked out on the couch. Nope. And he wasn't in the bathroom because the door was open. Maybe he'd felt worse than he'd let on that morning and gone to crash in Jack's room, the bed being much more comfortable than the sofa.

Not there either.

Jack looked around, starting to feel a twinge of real worry. He'd felt the need to hassle the kid just a little about taking it easy, more to discourage a real stubborn bonehead move like jaunting out for a less than leisurely half marathon than because he thought Mac still needed to even be home from work. But now he was pre-annoyed with his young friend, assuming that a stubborn bonehead run was exactly what he was going to find out happened this afternoon to explain Mac's absence.

Then Jack saw his desk, and the open file cabinet beneath it. "Oh, no, Mac, please tell me you didn't …"

Jack crossed the room in a few long strides. The note with the warehouse address Timmons had given him was sitting right on top of scattered photographs from the file he'd been building. The picture of a sleeping, or more accurately unconscious in a military issue hospital bed, just barely nineteen-year-old Mac with a bruised and swollen face was right beneath the address.

God. Damn. It. Jack had been going to check out the warehouse when he got back from Peru, but circumstances had intervened. He should have known if Mac saw that cabinet he'd never be able to resist …

 _That little shit_.

Jack opened another drawer that it never would have occurred to Mac to look in, because he already knew what he'd find there, and dropped ammo and another backup piece in his pockets. He didn't even bother to lock the door on his way out, simply letting it slam shut behind him and he jogged down the outside stairs to the parking lot, swearing under his breath and getting out his phone.

He didn't even greet the voice on the other end, just snapped. "I've got a problem," as he started his car and roared out of the parking lot, headed southwest, mentally cursing traffic in several languages. "Yes, it's about Mac," he snapped like it should have been obvious, easing more pressure on the accelerator and ignoring the honking of horns and the squealing of brakes, his brain in full-blown single-minded overwatch mode.

0-0-0

Mac edged around the back of the warehouse, grateful there were no windows where he'd actually gotten dropped off. He was sure he'd recognized the man who'd been entering when he'd had the cab drive around.

Older, deeply tanned, heavier, and bearded, Tallahassee didn't look much like Woody Harrelson anymore, but damned if his particular husky drawl as he called out to someone in one of the trucks that had pulled up only moments after the cab had pulled away didn't practically make Mac's hair stand on end. It was as like a voice out of an open grave.

Part of him had remained convinced that Tallahassee was still alive, and the photo Jack had shown him a while back more or less confirmed it. But another part of Mac's brain, the part that still occasionally woke sure he could smell his mother's perfume, the part that started halting letters to his father from time to time, that bit of him had hoped he was wrong, hoped that photo was someone who just resembled someone Mac had thought was a friend. Accepting that someone he'd served with was a traitor was a tough pill to swallow. Much worse than accepting his death, honestly.

But that voice was unmistakable. Mac dropped into a crouch, preparing to edge around the side of the building to see if he could get a look inside. He felt the cell phone in his pocket vibrate. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. He didn't even have to look to know who it was. But he took out his phone anyway. Yeah, that's who it was. _Shit_.

"Jack, I'm sorry … let me explain a minute before … I know I should've …" Mac stammered quietly, almost whispering.

"Button it, Carl's Junior. You listen and you listen good. I am on my way over to that warehouse and you are under no circumstances to snoop around, skulk, just go have a look, or any of the other crap you always say when what you mean is stick your neck out for no goddamned good reason," Jack hissed.

"Jack, something's going on, there's multiple trucks, all different labels that look like retail delivery trucks, and O'Neill is here for sure."

He heard Jack swear away from the mouth piece and then say something, but he couldn't make out what. Clearly Jack was either talking to himself or there was someone with him. "Jack?" Mac asked, honestly a little unsure of what to do next.

"Mac, whatever you do, don't you dare go in there, kid. Those guys are dangerous as Hell."

"Why didn't you tell me you knew they were here?" Mac didn't mean to, not after he'd broken into the filing cabinet, but he sounded like he felt a little betrayed.

Jack was starting to understand some of Mac's emotionally self-protective tendencies. Mac almost seemed to expect things to be hidden from him. Maybe Jack should have said more, sooner, he thought.

"I didn't, kid, I promise you, if I'd known, I'da checked it out. I just got the message there might be something worth looking at right before I left for Peru."

Mac's back rested against the building for a minute. "I'm sorry Jack," he breathed, the weight of not trusting Jack heavy on his shoulders.

"You're damn well gonna be if somebody spots you and it's really who you think it is," Jack growled. "Get back in your car and just casually drive away from there. Okay?"

"I took a cab. The Jeep is still at work," Mac replied, realizing how bad an idea this was, sort of all of a sudden.

"You lay low until I get there then, you hear?"

There was silence for a moment. Then Jack heard the phone scrape against pavement followed by the muffled sound of Mac's voice saying, "Alright, it's on the ground."

That was followed by another voice and even muffled the accent was all too familiar barking, "What're you doing here?"

And then a sharp crunching pop and a sound almost like feedback as the phone was crushed.

Jack floored the accelerator around the last bend to the parking lot for the group of warehouses. "You get that?" he asked the speakerphone next to him and he slid into a parking space in a move so close to a Tokyo drift he was even more furious with Mac for missing.

Patricia Thornton replied, "We're in-bound."


	18. Chapter 18

Mac dragged his feet as much as he thought he could get away with as the man pressing a gun between his shoulder blades pushed him along to one of the warehouse's side entrances. Slowing this down was his best … his _only_ … possible chance to get out of this.

 _Jack is on his way_ , he kept telling himself, but it did almost nothing to slow the triphammering of his heart. Mac didn't know much about guns, but he did know the one being jabbed into his back to urge him along was a FN Herstal Five SeveN.

He knew it because right around the time he'd been joining the Army, the military grade firearm had been in the news as a point of gun control controversy as to its appropriateness for civilians. He distinctly remembered the animation from CNN that showed what the high velocity round would do to a human target.

Mac had some hand to hand combat training back in Basic, and only heaven (and probably Boze) knew how many fights he'd gotten into back in school because slight nerdy kids with no parents tend to be a bully target. Once he'd realized he deserved to be treated better, had a right to defend himself, he'd gotten pretty good at getting even much bigger guys to leave him alone. So his first impulse was to try to fight his way out. Fortunately, even as scared as he was, he was mentally on top of things enough to know that was probably not his best play if he wanted to survive this curiosity-spurred lapse in judgement.

Mac figured he could handle himself if a run of the mill fight broke out, but unarmed here and now, he thought fighting this well armed burly dude who probably had at least as much military style training as he did would be a good way to reenact that simulation he'd seen in the news.

They were close to the door and there was still no sign of Jack. He decided to try again to talk his way out. "Look man, I don't even care what you're doing here. I was just following up on a Craigslist ad for a cheap car. I don't even need to call a cab if you don't want anybody around. I'll walk away and we'll never see each other again. I won't tell anybody I saw …"

Mac found himself slammed up against the wall next to the door. He was fleetingly grateful he hadn't tried to fight this guy just based on the sheer strength and weight crushing him into the hot metal siding. Bad breath and a heavy accent near the side of his face spat, "You won't tell anybody anything. No more from you, boy."

"Okay," Mac gasped as the man's gun barrel pressed hard under his ribs. "Sorry."

"I am certain you will be."

The door was yanked open and Mac was shoved inside, hard enough to make him stumble, but he kept his feet as he straightened back up in the dim warehouse interior. The difference in light was so marked, Mac couldn't see for a minute or two; spots danced in front of his eyes. He blinked hard and put his head down for a second, trying to adjust.

Then he could feel people approaching and a familiar voice snapped, "What part of just go get the car wasn't clear, Pazir?"

"This one was snooping around, Boss."

"Great," the man sighed. "Tell ya what, kid, you picked the wrong time and place to try to score a bag of weed."

Finally, Mac's vision had adjusted enough that he thought he could meet the man's eyes. He lifted his head. "Not exactly what I had in mind when I came down here," he said, suddenly feeling more angry than afraid.

The fact that this man had once slept twenty feet from where he had, had worn the same uniform, but had also almost definitely been responsible for at least four men on their patrol dying and the captivity and torture of others was … Mac couldn't really articulate exactly how to label it, but 'offensive' came as close as he needed it to.

O'Neill's eyes narrowed. "Well, well. Every time I turn around, along comes Hollywood to screw things up."

Mac always sort of knew he was an impulsive guy. Hell, he'd informed a drill sergeant that it wasn't possible to give more than one hundred percent on his first day of Basic Training. But even he inwardly cringed when he heard his voice (that had definitely not checked in with his brain) say, "The trouble with being a traitor is you almost always run into somebody who's going to get in your way."

"Is that what you're doing here? Trying to get in the way?" O'Neill asked coldly.

Despite the fact that Mac's hands were held out in front of him in a universally non-threatening gesture, his momentary pause before answering the presumably rhetorical question was apparently taken personally and the man O'Neill had called Pazir jammed the barrel of his gun into Mac's back hard enough to elicit a small noise of complaint from the young man.

Then Mac stammered, "I … I tried to get them to go back, tried to get anyone I could to listen. I thought you were one of us … and still a prisoner. Everyone else was so sure you were dead." He paused again, looking down at the floor for a moment. "Looks like _everybody_ was wrong about you."

"Looks like," the man agreed with a shake of his head. Then he smirked when Mac looked back up. "Then again, not everybody misjudged me. My mother's family for example. Her people in Kabul seemed to understand me just fine."

Mac swallowed hard. Family over there. Well, he supposed that would explain it, or at least it could. But how the hell did the guy pass a security clearance screen if he had family connected to insurgent activity?

Then again, O'Neill hadn't been EOD. Mac supposed he didn't really know how thoroughly other MOS's were vetted or what clearances they might have. Besides, who knew if O'Neill was even this guy's name. Mac knew people used fake identities … He just had no idea how that might work if someone like the Army ran a background check.

Mac was starting to wonder if Jack had been intercepted by someone else involved in this, because it felt like about a year since Pazir had first growled at him in some bizarre combination of English and Pashto. He didn't even know how to respond to the admission that O'Neill didn't consider himself a traitor, but rather loyal to his mother's family and her country. So instead, both because he wanted to know and because he wanted to keep the man talking, he asked, "What happened to Big Z?"

"Zwickey?" he snorted derisively. "Kept him around until we wrang him dry of intel. I don't know what happened to him after that," he shrugged.

Mac swallowed. Because the alternative was throwing up on this guy's shoes. He'd tortured and killed the guy who'd slept in the bunk next to him, who everyone believed was his closest friend. Mac desperately wanted to say something else, get him talking, get him distracted, because he was positive Jack would be here any minute but it seemed nothing would come out of his desert-dry mouth.

O'Neill squinted at him, looking amused. "You always were a helluva an idea man, kid. Pazir, car, now. Airfield." Then he called out something to one of the other men who was loudly banging down off the metal stairs off to their left, but it was in a dialect that Mac could make almost nothing of, despite having naturally picked up a decent amount of the basics of the language while in Afghanistan. The one word he caught was 'prisoner' and his stomach dropped.

Pazir nodded and started back out the door. The other man jogged over taking a large zip tie out of his pocket. Mac's immediate impulse was to run, but the moment his muscles twitched he heard the distinctive click of a weapon slide.

He was still tensed but he looked back at O'Neill. The man had some small semiautomatic pistol aimed almost between his eyes. It took everything he had not to still just break into a run, but the expression on O'Neill's face said he'd be more that happy to shoot him.

"Hold up there, Hollywood," he said casually.

"Don't call me that," Mac spat, grateful that he sounded more angry than the practically piss your pants scared he felt.

"Ah, Hollywood, don't give me some that's reserved for brothers in arms bullshit. I served with you just nicely until my uncle needed me. Besides Angus doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, does it?" Mac's eyes widened. He was absolutely positive he'd never told anybody there his first name. "Oh, I know all about you, kid. I knew everything about our whole squad. Which is why I'm kind of interested in seeing what sorts of fun explosives things you remember. No more knocking over aid stations for me and my boys anymore. We got ourselves some of the good make em remember you stuff now. Gonna light up this country like the Fourth of July. You showing up here is just a beautiful coincidence."

Mac stiffened as the other man zipped the sharp plastic closed around his wrists, but was at least a little grateful it was in front of him. He managed to ignore the gun in his face and glare at O'Neill. "There's no such thing as coincidence."

"According to who?" he asked with a smirk.

"Well, the law of large numbers for starters," Mac said, suddenly just a little less afraid. Why the hell was it that no matter how freaked out he was, if he thought about something concrete, like probability theory, it calmed him right down? "And," he went on, "you had to know one of us would come looking eventually. Stuff like that isn't easy to let go, Ron."

Mac didn't know what had possessed him to use the man's first name, but something a little less hard shimmered across his face for a second. Then he just gave Mac a shove in the direction of the door, so hard Mac almost went sprawling.

When Pazir pulled up and opened the trunk of the large late model sedan Mac felt almost blinding blistering panic. Being just blown up, captured, and beaten, that was one thing. And no denying it was scary as Hell. But knowing you were going to be taken away someplace and tortured for information, that was a special kind of dread the twenty-three year old who was currently pretty happy to be a lowly lab tech hadn't realized existed.

The worst part was he did still know a fair amount of definitely classified information vital to EOD and, if they could get it out of somebody, to the insurgent groups waging war against them. And everybody talks. That's one of the things he'd been taught in training. Everybody talks eventually. So would he, he was sure. His training about resisting interrogation had been cursory at best.

Mac was pretty sure he was going to just throw up.

Then a welcome familiar voice called out from an indescernible direction. "Hey there Tallahassee! Your sorry ass is absolutely surrounded. Why doncha put that gun down and let the kid back on up?"

Nothing happened for a minute, and Mac's face had almost split into a grin when, with no warning the shooting started. Mac dove onto the ground, scrambling to get behind the next nearest vehicle, struggling to move along the ground because of his bound hands.

Gravel bounced up and cut his cheek as a bullet hit the pavement near his face. Then he swore as something hot and angry tore his thigh. He couldn't hear himself over the noise though.

He got behind a truck and, ignoring the pain and the fact that he was bleeding as best he could, he got his shoelaces quickly tied around the zip securing his wrists. Using his feet and the friction of the laces, he'd cut through the ties in less than a minute. Then he got his knife out of his pocket and cut free his pant leg to check the damage. He almost grinned when his head supplied Jack's voice, "That ain't hardly a mosquito bite."

He got to his feet, preparing to look around the front of his cover to see what was happening. A heavy hand grabbed his shoulder and he jumped. The hand spun him around and it was Jack.

Seeing Jack's concerned face he realized the fire fight was over, his unprotected ears were just still ringing from the noise. Finally Jack's voice started to get through the high pitched buzzing. "You're bleeding, kid."

Mac nodded. "I think that's the least of our worries, Jack. I'm pretty sure those delivery trucks I told you about have bombs in them and maybe so does this warehouse."

"I made a call. I got people on their way and tracking down street cameras here so we can get somebody on it."

This time Mac shook his head and started back toward the warehouse, limping but not too slowed down, he thought. "They were in a hell of a hurry to hit the airport. I don't think there's much time. Call your people and tell them to focus on the trucks. We'll deal with the warehouse."

Jack looked like he wanted to argue but knew he couldn't justify it. He just got out his phone and started talking, following Mac at the same time. "Think tank my ass," Mac grumbled to himself as he started searching crates and boxes for the bomb he was 90% sure had to be here. Then he found a box with some very distinctive markings on the container inside and something O'Neill said suddenly clicked. "Jack? Tell them these bombs are probably dirty."

Mac's wide blue eyes belied his calm tone, but Jack just did as Mac said. He was putting the phone in his pocket when he saw Mac go a particularly disturbing shade of pale. "Mac? Buddy? Maybe you should sit for a sec and lemme get a look at your leg."

Max shook his head. "My leg is fine, just this bomb …" he trailed off.

"Is worse than a dirty bomb?" Jack asked feeling his own eyes go a little wild.

Mac shrugged and started walking again, toward the open metal stairs he'd seen the man with the zip ties descend a few minutes ago. "It is for me," he said sounding a little shaky.

He pointed up at the center of the catwalk that ran past the warehouse's duct work.

"Because it's up there."


	19. Chapter 19

Mac had been telling himself for years that his fear of heights wasn't actually a phobia. Yet that assertion seemed to fall apart the higher he climbed. Mostly because despite the totally stable staircase he was on resulted in an exponential increase in his heartbeat.

He also had to acknowledge that he'd sort of forgotten about having a bullet wound in his leg until he thought about the reason he knew his heart was beating way too fast was the throbbing in his thigh.

Granted, he was very good at estimating distances, and this maintenance catwalk appeared to be a custom model of about forty-five feet off the ground. Any idiot knew that was enough to kill you, or at least shatter everything important in your body, if you fell from it. But any idiot would also look at it and say that it was meant to be walked on, that there were perfectly safe stairs to get there.

Mac wasn't any idiot. In fact, usually he was too smart for his own good. The disadvantage of having a brain that worked at above average capacity was when it decided to be irrational, it was better at that than average, too. Anything more than a step ladder usually had him mentally calculating exactly how much force he'd hit the ground with, or if he was really high up, how long it would take to reach terminal velocity.

He hadn't realized how much the pace of his breathing had already picked up until he heard Jack speak from behind him. "Easy, there, bud. You're alright."

Of course Jack was right behind him. No way was he going to let Mac just take off into an unknown situation. Besides he figured Jack would be all about that catwalk. Heights definitely didn't bother Jack, and the high ground was the place a sniper always wanted to be, more or less. After a couple seconds, Mac was able to acknowledge Jack's presence.

"Yeah. I know." Mac kept going up, deliberately trying to slow his breathing down. "Knowing and feeling are two different things."

"Don't I know it."

Mac could hear the smile in Jack's voice. It made him grin just a little, too. If anyone knew what it felt like to get irrational over something other people would think was ridiculous, it was Jack. What Mac most appreciated about Jack in this kind of situation was that he was the first to admit he was freaking out, didn't care what people thought about it, and still seemed able to function even a razor's edge away from panic. Most of the time.

They reached the top of the stairs and Mac could plainly see the device he'd glimpsed from the floor. He stopped for a minute, evaluating the narrow walkway in front of him, made up of what looked like heavy duty chain link fence. The floor seemed about a thousand miles below them and the sick dropping in Mac's stomach and the tightness in his chest made him feel like he was falling already, even though all he was doing was looking down.

But, scared didn't matter. A timer potentially ticking down to what Jack liked to call simply 'kaboom' was what mattered. Mac took a long breath in and sort of held it as he moved to take a step out from the relative safety of the platform at the top of the stairs. Jack's hand gripped his elbow and stopped him. Mac turned just enough to face him.

"Slow down, kid. I don't think you know it, but you're limping pretty bad. You just take it easy gettin' out there. I'm gonna hang onto you so that leg doesn't go out from under you. Okay?"

Mac shook off Jack's hand. "I appreciate it, but I'm fine. I'm realizing how far up we are here …" His eyes unintentionally strayed to the floor again and he shuddered. He couldn't help it. It was just a shiver that wracked his whole body for a second. "Your weapons aren't good for distance, Jack. If anyone comes back or somebody else from their cell shows up, it's probably better if you're by the door. I just feel like they aren't done here. Just because O'Neill and his guys took off in a hurry doesn't mean everyone involved knows about it. In fact the Mazari's MO back in Afghanistan was to take out members of their own team for whatever reason."

Jack appreciated that Mac was able to think tactically at the moment, but he also wasn't about to leave the kid alone up here, wounded and freaked the hell out. "No worries, kid. We'll keep an ear out and I can move pretty fast for an old guy." Jack patted Mac on the shoulder in a 'this discussion is over' gesture. Mac's face said he was about to get stubborn, so Jack added, "If it'll make you feel better, I'll head down once you're workin' on that bomb, but I'm walkin' you out there and you damned well better not argue with me about it. I'm your Overwatch. I say how we set up a disposal. All you do is the disposin'. Capiche?"

Mac shook his head, but one side of his mouth quirked up in almost a smirk. "You got it, Sarge," he said with a fair amount of genuine amusement. It was too easy to fall back into old roles, he thought. But he also didn't think that was necessarily a bad thing where he and Jack were concerned. He let Jack support the arm on his injured side as he edged out toward the middle of the catwalk.

"Quit lookin' down," Jack admonished when they got about half way to their destination.

"I can't help it," Mac grumbled. And he really couldn't. He didn't want to look down. Ever. At all. But his eyes kept finding the floor, entirely independent of his wishes. He decided edging along faster was his best bet to get to the bomb and disarm it before his heart just exploded in his chest.

It was almost a relief to reach the bomb and see the timer ticking down toward zero. His mind went perfectly blank with anything other than evaluating the device and picturing how to disconnect each and every dangerous component. Even his heart rate slowed, and his breath returned to a normal, even calm rhythm.

It was amazing how really deep training could do that for you. No feelings about the bomb. Alfred Pena had said that over and over to him and all the other trainees until it was burned into their brains. It didn't necessarily come naturally for most of them, but for Mac, who had spent a lot of time in his life ignoring his feelings anyway, it hadn't taken very long for something to click and for Al's calm voice to sort of take over in his head and talk him through disarming even the most complicated bomb. It was similar to how he would often hear his grandfather's voice say, "Deep breath. Let it out. Now work the problem."

He got out his Swiss Army knife and prepared to do just that.

He was entirely in the moment, until he crouched down to get a better look at the device. "Gah, damn it," he hissed, pressing his free hand against his injured leg and squeezing his eyes shut for a minute. Jack's hand was gripping his shoulder, steadying him until he lowered himself all the way to sitting on the narrow platform. His hand was wet with blood, but as he pried his eyes back open, he reminded himself that it wasn't a serious wound, just painful and annoying. "I'm good," he bit out and as he started taking off plates and confidently severing connections, Jack released his shoulder.

"I'm gonna head down and have a look around, check in with the boss … You call me before you even try to get up again, you hear?"

"Mmmhmm," Mac replied, only about half paying attention. The device wasn't complicated, or not more than anything else he'd ever encountered, but there was definitely room for their to be waste from fissionable materials packed into the case. He heard Jack's feet receding back across the catwalk. "Be careful," he said absently as he continued to work.

Mac was starting to feel like he had a handle on this bomb when Jack called out from below, "Better hurry up, Mac, we're gonna have company! And the boss is still a couple minutes out with our back up!"

"Almost there," he shouted back.

He was aware of the sounds of shouting. The subsequent gunfire was a distant annoying sound, like a fly buzzing nearby when you're trying to read. When Mac finally snipped the last critical wire and the device went dark, suddenly reality rushed back in, and Mac was aware of a firefight going on below him. Far below.

He swallowed hard as he looked down, but he needed information. Since he saw some familiar looking faces dressed in full tactical gear intermingled with people who were clearly there to just do damage to Los Angeles and then probably move on and do it elsewhere, he guess the backup Jack had called for had gotten here. He squinted down at the figures from both sides moving from cover to cover around the edges of those not already on the ground being handcuffed by the tactical unit that had arrived. He couldn't spot Jack anywhere.

He needed to get down from here, find Jack, and start asking questions about what was really going on here. There was no way Jack had called their boss at a think tank and less than fifteen minutes later gotten a SWAT team or whatever the hell this was to converge on their location or to go after the other trucks containing bombs that had fanned out into the city.

He groaned as he started to get up. He also probably needed to find someone to patch up his leg. He staggered as he got to his feet, actually using the disarmed bomb as leverage to stay upright. _Damn, that hurt_. The upside was that things seemed to be slowing down below. Mac started to make his limping, grumbling, way toward the stairs.

He was already mentally preparing for Jack to absolutely justifiably chew him a new one for not only breaking into his file cabinet, but taking off pursuing what he'd found without a word to anyone, and then managing to get his dumb ass captured and subsequently shot. Mac vowed to himself he wouldn't try to justify it, not out loud anyway. He owed Jack an unargued with lecture at this point.

He was concentrating so hard on making his way across the catwalk without putting too much pressure on his leg that he barely noticed how high up he was. His brain kept helpfully reminding him of it, but he was hurting enough that he was mostly successful ignoring it. He had about ten feet to go when he both looked down and put too much pressure on his bad leg all at the same time and his leg buckled and he went down hard on one knee, sending a resonant clanging through the metal.

"Mac!" Jack called out from below, sounding a combination of worried and irritated that his young friend hadn't called down for help like he'd told him to when he'd left to secure the rest of the warehouse. Mac's gut instinct that others might show up had been good, and there were still a few loose bad guys, but Thornton had arrived with the tac team, and Jack wasn't about to let Mac try to get down from his precarious perch on his own at the moment. "You stay put, damn it! I'm comin'!"

The part of Mac that hated needing help, that always felt like even asking for it was going to result in him getting yelled at or being made miserable in some other way, was tempted to try to get to his feet and just finish the job under his own steam. The rest of him really didn't want to fall, or put his weight back on his leg until he'd maybe just possibly gotten something in the way of a decent painkiller in his system, and that part of him knew he could trust Jack to help him. Jack wasn't about to yell at him or make him feel bad for needing help. In fact, pretty much the exact opposite.

"Okay," he called back, squinting as he started to ease himself back down onto the catwalk. He wanted off it more than anything, but waiting for Jack seemed like a smart move after he'd already almost fallen when his leg gave out.

"Good man," Jack called up approvingly as he started to take the stairs two at a time. "I'll be right …"

He didn't get to finish the sentence.

Mac saw it coming before Jack did, and he opened his mouth to call out a warning, but it happened to fast. One of the Mazari guys, who was still fighting even though it should have been clear to the dipshit that he'd been left to die by his boss, broke the hold of the tac guy trying to wrestle him to the floor. Jack was just there, in the middle of that staircase.

The gunshot was unbelievably loud for some reason, Mac thought sort of incoherently. He saw it connect with Jack's shoulder, saw the spray of blood, and saw the force of the impact knock Jack right over the railing of the stairs to the catwalk. "Jack!"

Mac was on his feet and running the rest of the way across the catwalk before Jack had even hit the floor. It had looked to Mac like Jack had fallen forever and he felt like the world was moving in slow motion. Jack had been shot and had fallen … like twenty feet or something.

Mac sort of vaguely processed that one of the guys in tactical gear had tackled the shooter, as he sped down the steps toward Jack. As he ran down the stairs his brain started a very unhelpful litany of facts.

Statistically falling forty-nine feet is a reasonable predictor of fatality. His first blush assessment told him that Jack had fallen about half that, which his brain told him meant there was a fifty-fifty shot that Jack was still alive. Falling eight or more stories is a predictor of a one hundred percent mortality rate.

Of course there was the force to consider. Force equals mass times acceleration. In this case acceleration was the force of gravity on a falling object, or nine point eight meters per second per second. Jack was about six feet tall, so that was roughly one point eight meters add that to the twenty feet up the stairs which was about 6 meters. He weighed about one eighty, so approximately eighty-two kilograms … Mac felt like he couldn't breathe while his brain did the math …

Jack hit the ground going thirty nine kilometers per hour or about 24 miles per hour, falling for only about one second (which just didn't seem possible, no matter what the math said, Jack had been in the air on his way to that concrete floor for an hour at least), and he'd hit with nearly five thousand joules of energy.

Then Mac stepped on the stair he'd actually seen Jack fall from. He knew it because the image was like a flashbulb had gone off and seared it into his mind. Jack had fallen maybe ten feet. Okay, okay that was bad, but it wasn't _as_ bad. His brain helpfully reminded him that Jack had also been shot and that's why he'd fallen in the first place.

Mac took the last few steps two at a time and was on the floor at Jack's side before any of the rest of the guys in the room had gotten even half way there. "Jack, Jack c'mon, man," Mac said with a small amount of desperation.

Jack opened his eyes, "Aw hell," was the first thing out of his mouth.

Mac almost laughed with relief that Jack was clearly alive, and not just conscious, but enough himself to be ready to bitch about the situation. Mac took in the bleeding shoulder, realizing it was bleeding under Jack as well. A through and through that was called. That was good. It meant the bullet hadn't bounced around and torn up extra things on its way through.

Mac reached out and squeezed Jack's other shoulder. "Hey, buddy, don't move, okay? You fell pretty far."

As two other members of the backup team Jack had called in got there, Jack just nodded a little. "Not moving isn't really a problem, kid," he groaned as one of the men put pressure on his bleeding shoulder and the other was on his radio saying things Mac only half heard.

Mac's eyes went wide with fear for his friend. "You can't move?" he asked, feeling something akin to panic, already thinking what paralysis would mean for someone like Jack.

Jack did his best to laugh at the younger man. "I can move, kid. It just hurts like hell. I'm not as young as some people."

Mac smiled down at him and shook his head with exasperated affection. "Jackass," he said quietly. "You scared the hell outta me for a second."

"Good," Jack groaned. "Now you know how I felt when I came home and saw that you'd busted open my personal locked files and …"

"Jack, I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Too much about other people and not enough about your own hide as usual, I'm guessin'." He looked Mac over. The kid was going to realize he was actually pretty hurt too any second, Jack thought. Then he heaved a resigned sigh. "Best back up a minute kid; Thornton just got here with the medics and they are gonna be more than usual levels of annoying because I took a tumble."

Mac gave Jack's shoulder another squeeze and stood up out of the way. His boss strode over and pinned him with her dark eyes. "The device?"

Mac squared his shoulders. "Deactivated, Ma'am. Safe for retrieval and analysis. Were you able to identify and recover all the vehicles?"

"We were." She gave a curt nod of satisfaction along with the statement.

"Were there any other devices that we should worry about? If I'm needed elsewhere to disarm …"

She stopped him. "Not all of the trucks contained explosives, but the ones that did have been rendered harmless and are on their way back to a secure facility to be processed."

Mac glanced at his watch. "That's impressive work, Ma'am, if you don't mind me saying so."

Her Cheshire Cat smile made an appearance. "I could return the compliment …" Then her expression hardened a bit. "If I wasn't so blindingly furious that you came down here on your own after looking at classified documents Dalton had in his possession."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I believe Jack's pretty furious, too. And I have a feeling …"

"As soon as he's been patched up you're going to be reminded what it's like to have someone who outranks you and likes to yell upset with you."

Mac nodded, looking down at his shoes. "I'm afraid so, Ma'am." Then he heard Jack yelp, a surprised, distressed sort of sound, and without even excusing himself from his boss, he limped back over to where the medics were getting Jack ready to move. As soon as he was close, he saw the problem. He bent toward Jack and grabbed his free hand, ready to be a distraction. So he was going to be a jerk for a minute and tease the poor guy.

"Guys, take it easy on poor Jack. He's the world's biggest baby about needles, even those itty bitty IV ones. This one time in Afghanistan …"

"Don't you dare tell that story!" Jack said with a fair amount of heat. "Ow! Goddamn it, Evers, you need more practice before they let you out of the house with sharp things," he snapped, glaring at the man who'd just very sneakily taken advantage of the distraction Mac had provided and started the absolutely necessary whether Jack much liked it or not IV.

They started to move toward the door, and Mac took a step after them. "Got room for me to ride with him?" he asked tentatively.

Evers grinned at him and nodded. "Dalton already told us to drag you along if necessary. Have a seat and we'll be right back to move you the right way. Got yourself a nasty little GSW of your own, kid."

Mac glanced down at his leg which he'd all but forgotten about. "Oh, um, yeah, I guess I do."

Between the glare he was getting from Jack, and the one he saw Patricia Thornton directing his way, his next thought of "But it's fine," died on his lips. He sat down on the nearest crate to wait for them.

"I'll be right here," he said with a sigh.

Nothing like saving the whole city and keeping the state from being rendered uninhabitable only to wind up feeling like you were in trouble.


	20. Chapter 20

Mac would later hope that Thornton passed it off as bad judgement from pain-induced adrenaline. But that couldn't have been further from the truth. When he'd argued with her and the company's medical personnel about being separated from Jack for transport, he hadn't been feeling any pain at all.

He'd gotten outside and promptly hopped off the gurney he'd been being pushed along on to follow Jack into one of the waiting ambulances. "Hold on, there, kid. Not enough room," the man, Evers, said holding up a hand and getting in his way.

Jack would have recognized the stubborn line that formed across Mac's forehead for what it was, and if he hadn't been in absolute agony, he probably would have tried to intervene and explain that Mac wasn't somebody you really wanted to argue with in a situation like this. With somebody like Mac, you had to take care of their concern for others first. It was just how Mac was wired. If you stood in the way of that, he'd bleed to death on the spot trying to change your mind.

"You said there was room. And I sat down and waited and didn't just walk out here. So, let's go."

Mac moved to step around him and suddenly found himself face to face with Patricia Thornton. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said, pleasantly enough, but the get-the-hell-out-of-my-way was definitely implied.

She gave him a small smile that didn't actually feel like a smile at all. "Mac, your injury can be taken care of back at our facility, but our people are taking Jack to a nearby private hospital that is better equipped to handle his situation."

"Which is?" Mac snapped.

Her eyes narrowed for a moment. "Our team here suspects that Jack may have … injured … his back."

"Yeah, me too. I saw him fall," he replied. "Duh," he added under his breath. Then he moved to step around her again.

"Broken," she said more definitely. "They suspect a break."

"Well, then, what are we waiting for?" Mac asked, stubbornly squaring his shoulders.

Thornton raised one eyebrow. "For you to be reasonable, I believe," she answered cooly.

"I'm not being unreasonable. I'm being responsible." This time he just pushed past her and started toward the back of the ambulance with Jack.

"You have a bullet wound that needs to be treated," she said with some irritation.

His eyes flashed for a split second like he didn't care whose boss she was. "So does Jack." His voice dropped. "This is my fault. I'm going to make sure he's okay."

She considered him for a long moment before nodding thoughtfully. Mac started limping in his original direction. Thornton looked at Evers. "Make sure he gets taken care of, too, and is either clear on the accident story or too medicated for anyone to pay any attention to him. He's not briefed in, so he has no reference for protocol here. I'll send staff along to move them back to headquarters as soon as you give me the word."

He just nodded, somewhat surprised that Thornton didn't just bite the young man's head off and make him go back to the office for treatment. No security clearance, worked as a lab tech in the front office, and here he was in the middle of an op that was going to take no small amount of creative record altering to keep a lid on, and he'd just more or less told the boss to kiss his ass, in so many words. And instead of firing him, or more likely ordering one of them to knock his ass out until she could figure out what to do about it, she was just giving him his way.

Actually, Evers thought, as he climbed into the rig, based on the expression on the kid's face, he wasn't sure even Patricia Thornton could have gotten him away from Dalton at the moment. Once he'd gotten his way and was sitting as out of the way as he could be while still being in Jack's line of site, he was agreeable enough. He let Evers slice through his pant leg up to the point of the injury and look at his leg, securing a pressure bandage around the wound.

Mac did refuse any pain management, which Evers was afraid was going to be the case. Being able to just dope the kid senseless would have made his life so much easier. But Thornton had offered an alternative. So Evers went over the accident story: a carjacking gone horribly wrong, and that Mac was not to mention X-Com (which Mac was now realizing was definitely a cover name for something much bigger and much deeper than a tech-based swanky think tank) as anything other than his employer, and was to defer any real questions until a representative from the company arrived at the hospital.

Mac just nodded. "Yeah, of course," he agreed quietly, still mostly watching Jack who was well-bandaged and finally happier to have the IV than he'd been to not have it, since it was delivering something to make his pain tolerable. Although it was clear to Mac from the lines of his friend's face that tolerable was as far as they could get him. He was still obviously hurting.

The other member of the medical team that fit back here with them, Davis, Mac thought her name was, was less interested in whatever story the boss was cooking up for the civilians and more interested in how lousy their more resistant patient looked at the moment. She switched places with Evers and took the young man's vital signs again and told him very pointedly that he might think getting shot was no big deal, but his blood pressure had dropped some, which didn't really surprise her because he wasn't bleeding badly, but he _was_ bleeding.

At that point, he let them start an IV, but had flatly asked which one of them sucked the least at doing it before offering up a hand to let them. Davis apologized after blowing the second try. She assured him she was normally really good at it.

He growled that he'd had about enough and that stabbing him with sharp things was like baseball. Three strikes and you're out. Then he glanced at Evers and said, "And in this case that means the inning is over!"

Jack had dopily teased him a little then, and Mac threatened to expand on the earlier start of the story, which had shut Jack right up.

That was as much as he'd put up with until they were about halfway to where they were going when, without any warning that Mac could ever remember later, other than looking down and seeing that the bandage hard started to soak through, feeling suddenly returned to his leg. He stifled a surprised cry of pain behind lips he was biting.

"Hurts, huh?" Jack asked, not moving at first. Then, incredibly grateful for the above average pain medication he'd been given because otherwise just laying here would have been unbearable, Jack opened his eyes again, reached out and tugged on Mac's sleeve, "These guys could help with that you know."

Mac shook his head, not even realizing how narrow his eyes were. "I'm okay. It just … you know … kinda …"

"Burns like someone's holding a hot poker to it for fun?" Jack asked with a wry expression that wasn't quite a smile but that said he found Mac's pretense that it wasn't miserable to be a little amusing.

Mac closed his eyes. "Okay, maybe, yeah. A little." He took a deep breath. "I'll be okay until you're …"

"What exactly do you think you're gonna do for me, kid?" Jack asked, his tone a bit sharp. "Because I'm here to tell ya, watching you sittin' there hurtin' like hell ain't doin' a damn thing for me. The meds these fine folks were kind enough to bring along, those are great. Bein' pretty sure Patty is sending me somewhere good to get fixed up, also great."

Mac smirked a little when Jack slipped and called the boss Patty. He couldn't help it. Then Jack grabbed his hand and squeezed it until Mac looked at him directly.

"You sitting here bleeding and hurting and not letting these guys help you as much as they could, hell as much as they'd like to? That's actually sort of making a bad situation worse, kid."

He didn't really want to lay a guilt trip on the kid, but for one thing it was really how he felt, and for another it was a disturbing pattern of behavior he'd noticed in a certain blond bomb nerd, that he thought was maybe time to do something about.

Mac shifted, gasping as the small movement lit a blowtorch inside his leg that shot fire all the way down to his foot. "I'm sorry, Jack …" It was clear that he didn't necessarily mean about what was happening at the moment. "But I just want you to be …"

"I know. I get it," Jack interrupted. "And I'm a long damn way from fine this second, but I'll get there. Count on it. Always put your money on Jack Wyatt Dalton, bud. I'm a good bet." Jack managed a cocky smirk, although it took every ounce of willpower he had.

Mac half smiled at that, even though he sort of thought he'd put that same money up for someone punching his lights out just so he didn't have to feel his leg or anything else for awhile. Then he took an almost ragged breath, meeting Jack's eyes. "But this is my fault."

Jack shook his head, exchanging a look with Davis as he spoke, sort of letting her know with his eyes that he was pretty sure he could get Mac around to a more sensible way of thinking. "There are definitely aspects of this situation that are in fact your fault and believe you me when I can think half straight again we will be discussing them. At length."

Mac looked away, but he was almost smiling. Good God, even doped up to high heaven with a possibly broken back, Jack couldn't help but adopt that big brother, I'm your Overwatch, you ain't got a lick of sense so you best listen to me tone. And Mac knew he deserved it. "I know it, Jack, and I …"

"Me bein' hurt right now ain't one of the things we'll be talkin' about. You hear? Goin' after guys like that is my job."

Mac's eyes widened a little bit. That was quite an admission. Then Jack gave him a hard stare; even through his pain medication it was pretty intimidating.

"But it ain't yours. And you're hurt, too. So you let these folks take care of you, and once we're on the other side of this we'll maybe talk about your job since you're so fired up about savin' the world."

Mac nodded. Even though he absolutely detested how his brain felt on any kind of drugs that slowed him down, he agreed to let them start treating him a little more. By the time they'd arrived at the hospital and Jack had been whisked away for an MRI and someone was dealing with his leg more aggressively, he was not ungrateful that he had some pain relief on board, even though he felt way more looped than he'd told them would be okay.

He was also feeling liberally medicated enough that he only gave half a damn when someone said the words surgical repair. He just blearily signed the consent form, and nodded off before they'd gotten him as far as the OR.

Thornton must've called ahead and made some arrangements for security. A couple of taciturn guys in suits were sitting in his room when he was more with later that night. He figured they were there to make sure he didn't breach security for whoever the hell it was he actually worked for. But he didn't mind so much after one of them had the decency to assure him that, "Dalton is doing fine and he'll be brought here when he's out of surgery."

Mac dozed off, still pretty well in the bag (as Jack liked to say) on pain meds and fuzzy from anesthesia. When he woke again, Jack was there, in the bed closer to the window. The men who'd been sitting with him earlier had disappeared, and it was as quiet as a hospital ever gets. Mac had almost fallen back asleep, when he heard Jack say softly, "You awake, kid?"

He pried his eyes open. "Sort of," he mumbled. "How you doing?"

"I'm alright, I guess, bud, but …"

"But what?" Mac asked, pushing himself up on his pillow and starting to feel more awake, realizing there was more apprehension in Jack's voice than there was pain or even his usual softly revealed affection or concern.

"I just checked my phone. There going to move us back to the infirmary this morning, kid, and …"

"Spit it out, Jack," Mac said, starting to be legitimately worried, and realising his own pain management had started to wear off, and unusually for him, he was a little disappointed about it.

"Thornton is coming to see us to debrief this incident personally."

Mac swallowed hard. "That's bad, huh?"

"I don't think it's good, bud."


	21. Chapter 21

Mac felt like they'd been waiting around the X-Com infirmary for hours. Jack was still on pretty aggressive pain management. Mac gathered that his friend had come away from the incident at the warehouse in Inglewood with a couple of screws stabilizing his spine, but that no one thought he'd have much in they way of permanent damage. Which was great. Mac was thrilled to hear it. But at the moment, with the heavy pain medication necessary, Jack was down for the count. Mac would have appreciated some of Jack's usual chatter. He was starting to get legitimately edgy.

Granted, as far as hospital rooms went, this one wasn't terrible. The TV was nicer than average. And he'd been mostly left alone by the staff once he and Jack were settled in. But he knew he didn't still need to be here at all. His surgery had been minor, his leg hurt, but it wasn't unbearable, and he was twenty-three and healthy, recent illness notwithstanding.

No reason, under normal circumstances, he shouldn't have been discharged as soon as he woke up in the other hospital and there was someone on duty who could cut him loose. He'd nearly balked when he'd woken up for the day and been informed he and Jack were both being transferred back to the office's infirmary. But he hadn't.

He got the impression from Jack, early this morning when he was still half asleep, that Jack was maybe in some hot water because of him. And that maybe he was in the soup, too. He also got the feeling that he was going to finally find out what was really going on, which he definitely wanted to know.

He figured Thornton wanted to know where to find them, and she wanted to talk to them together. Keeping him admitted to the hospital was actually a nicer gesture than throwing him in some holding cell because he'd tumbled to some secret government bullshit. Mac sighed. That's what this obviously was, too.

He was almost trying to be pissed off about it, to get angry at Jack, because that would have been easier than the worried guilt that was currently dominating his emotions relative to his former overwatch. Jack was occasionally whimpering softly even in his sleep and every time he did, Mac flinched.

Jack was generally tough as nails, or as one notable CO had put it sort of congratulating Mac for ringing Jack's bell so the medic could do his job that one time, the man was hard as woodpecker lips, at least when it came to tolerating pain. Now Jack was in enough pain, even on pretty aggressive mid-morning sleep inducing medication, to be making sounds like a little kid in his sleep.

Mac knew it was his fault.

Part of him wanted to argue that Jack had known what he was getting into, that it was pretty clear that Jack worked for well-trained, well-equipped people at a dangerous and demanding job that he was doing totally voluntarily, not unlike he had been when they'd met. That part of him wanted to say that Jack was the one with the secret file on the Mazari and that he'd been going to investigate that warehouse anyway. And he hadn't told Mac any of it.

Mac sighed again. The rest of him knew that wasn't much of an argument. For starters, maybe Jack was dealing with classified material and trying to figure out what he could share. Mac understood what classified meant. Mac had a job in the Army he couldn't talk about. Shit, telling people they'd guessed right was against the rules for some of what he'd done.

He also knew that Jack took his work, his patriotism, pretty damned seriously; more seriously than Mac ever had. And if he was fair, Jack had dropped little hints that there was more going on, which told Mac all he needed to know. Jack hadn't liked keeping something important from him.

Mac hadn't asked, even after the revelation that the "think tank" they worked for kept a trauma doctor around even though the guy was a total prick that nobody really liked, because … well, because he knew Jack didn't like him not knowing everything, but he also knew Jack wouldn't just break the law and reveal something classified. Or worse, if he did, just because he didn't like keeping secrets from him, it would be bad, like potentially federal prison bad. Mac didn't want to put him in that position.

Jack made another soft sound of real discomfort. Mac sat in his own bed, frowning at the older man. If Jack had actually gone to investigate that warehouse independent of Mac, Mac knew he wouldn't have gone alone. Or if he had, he never would have gotten caught. When they were working together in Afghanistan, Mac never knew where the hell Jack was unless Jack wanted him to know. Jack would have been armed. And he could have called in backup.

The only reason Jack was lying in that bed right now, recovering from both a bullet wound and a spinal injury that had required significant surgery was that Mac had gone into the situation armed with nothing more than curiosity and a freaking Swiss Army knife, and Jack had felt the need to run in and save his ass. Mac shuddered at the thought of how much worse things could have gone, for Jack and for him. Jack was in pain, and facing months of it as he recovered, but he could have been paralyzed, or even killed in that fall.

And Mac … he had no illusions about where he would be if Jack hadn't shown up. If O'Neill and his buddies had taken Mac with them, he'd either be dead already, or he'd be chained up somewhere wishing he was.

That was it. He couldn't sit around here waiting for Thornton to come talk to them. Jack was in no position to debrief anything. The man couldn't keep his eyes open for ten minutes at a clip yet. And frankly, Mac was about fed up with this bed, this room, and the idea of being Patricia Thornton's prisoner. He didn't care if that was his own fault at the moment. He'd gotten himself into this situation, and he was going to get out, damn it.

He carefully got himself out of bed and propped up on the crutches the nurse, Tony, (who had, in Mac's eyes, totally redeemed himself for his failure to be decent at drawing blood) delivered to him upon request (along with his belongings) almost immediately after their arrival this morning. With a furtive glance at the sleeping Jack, he hobbled over toward the bathroom, scooping up the plastic bag with his clothes on his way by.

He puffed out a long breath, remembering the the leg of his pants was sort of covered with blood and kind of shredded. Then he levered himself over to the room's closet, hoping that maybe … Yes! … He reached in and snagged the pale blue cotton gift from above off the shelf. Sure, they were hospital pajama pants, but they were still pants, so he could get out of here without anyone else getting a look at what color boxer briefs he favored.

By the time he managed to get dressed, he sort of regretted refusing any more pain medication. But at the same time, he needed to take care of this, talk to his boss, and see what he could do to absolve Jack of any responsibility for his actions. He knew Jack liked to call him 'kid'. Hell, by most people's standards he still sort of was one.

But deep down, where it mattered, where responsibility came to rest, Mac hadn't really much thought of himself as a kid since he was six years old. He figured the first time somebody got sent to their room for crying (and it didn't matter that the accusation had been that it was for no reason - the reason was his mother had died and you didn't just bounce back from that in a day or two), the first time they got told to 'suck it up' over something huge, was the moment being a kid started to be over. He'd just gotten a head start on most people in that regard.

He took a deep breath, looking over at Jack, guilt washing over him again. He had acted like a kid. No denying that. He'd been selfish, impulsive, and reckless. If Jack wanted to call him 'kid' for the rest of their lives, Mac didn't think he had a real right to complain about it. But even if that was the case, he was going to do the right thing now, the adult thing, and go take responsibility for this.

He went to the door and cracked it open, peeking out to see where everyone was. He wanted to go talk to Thornton quickly, not argue his way there through five layers of medical staff, most of whom kept offering him pain meds and he assumed it was because Thornton wanted him to stay put, not because he needed them. He shifted forward to get a better look down the hall at the small central station. He accidentally shifted too far in the wrong direction and sucked in his breath through his teeth, sinking back onto the crutches fully. "Sssssst … Ah, goddamnit," he hissed.

Okay, maybe the meds weren't just being offered because the boss wanted him pliable, but damned if he was going to own up to that now. He took a few slow deep breaths to get on top of the pain and once it faded to a tolerable ache, he prepared to go out the door and to the right. He thought he could make it to the elevators without garnering any attention.

He silently promised Jack that once he'd set the record straight with Thornton he'd come back down here and leave the hard way, with a pile of bandages and discharge instructions, and probably prescription bottles. Just not right now.

He leaned on the crutches and reached out to pull the door open, but the door beat him to it. He had to backpedal to avoid getting smacked by the door and by a starkly neat, and incredibly severe looking Patricia Thornton. He learned quickly that using crutches backward was a lot like ice skating backward at high speed. It took practice.

He almost went right over on his ass, but his brain liked maintaining his dignity more than it cared about the fact that he currently felt like someone was holding a lit cigar to his leg, and he corrected by putting both feet on the floor to step back. The bloom of pain was so sharp, so bright, that it set his ears ringing and for a second his vision just greyed out.

He felt hands on him, knew he moved, but it took leaning against the bed for a minute, panting through the feeling for his vision to return and spots to stop dancing in front of his eyes. When he refocused, he became aware that she was talking to him, but it took another minute to move past the hurt, the fact that he was now sweaty and a little sick.

"Mac ... Mac … MacGyver, are you alright?" The question was almost sharp.

He closed his eyes. "Mmmm. Yeah, I'm fine."

He pried them open again when she put a hand on his shoulder, "What were you doing out of bed? I know no one told you that was a good idea yet."

He nodded. He knew that. No point pretending he'd asked. "No, ma'am. But I wanted to talk to you and I didn't know how to reach you without …"

"Alerting the medical staff?" she asked with what could almost have been taken for amusement. She stepped back, taking him in. The rumpled t-shirt and flannel, the leather jacket, the slightly bloody boots, and of course, the pajama pants. She cocked an eyebrow at him, smile almost forming at one corner of her mouth against her better judgement. "Nice outfit."

Mac flushed and looked away for a second, then he forced himself to meet her gaze. "I figured it was better to look half dressed than like an extra from a zombie movie, ma'am."

"What would have been better was following my directive to wait until I came to speak with you both," she said cooly, pulling up the black plastic chair nearest the bed Mac had recently vacated, arranging herself gracefully in the seat, and giving him a significant glare indicating that she expected him to sit down on the bed again.

Mac did sit, but with a shake of his head. "This isn't about us both, ma'am. This is about me screwing up and getting Jack involved in that screw up and I was coming to see you because it's not fair that he …"

Thornton held up her hand to stop him. She drew a folder out of the bag she'd brought with her and took out a white form with black writing. "This is a binding non-disclosure agreement that I want you to read and sign before this conversation goes any further."

She held it out to him and he took it, reading it quickly, so quickly that if she hadn't seen all of the results of the cognitive testing his parents had done when he was just a boy she might have thought he hadn't really looked. He signed it and passed it back.

Then he picked back up where he left off. "It's not fair that Jack's job, or security clearance, or rank or whateverthehell is in jeopardy with whoever or whatever you represent because I screwed up."

She gave him a very speculative look then. "So, I assume you don't believe you're employed by X-Com, the privately funded global humanitarian endeavor, underwritten by the …"

"You can go ahead and assume whatever you like, ma'am. But I'll just tell you plainly. I suspect that the think tank is a cover. I think you guys are some arm of the intelligence community. I had enough experience running up against CIA bullshit when I was deployed … Apologies ma'am; there was no call for foul language."

Patricia just tilted her head. "I've seen other people in your position, Mac. And I must say, your response it … is unique. You're worried about breaking protocol and swearing at your boss, and you're also going out of your way to take responsibility. Because you're worried about Dalton and his job, not you and yours."

Mac raised an eyebrow and moved like he might stand back up. "Am I fired?"

Her face was almost expressionless. "I haven't decided yet."

Mac sat back down, not sure what to say next.

Thornton pinned him with a hard stare. "Regardless, I have a series of questions about this incident that I expect you to answer, truthfully, completely, and accurately to the best of your ability. And I'd like to be clear, you are required to do so by law."

This time it was Mac whose head tilted. "Required by whom?" he asked.

"Mac, you've been collecting a paycheck from a U.S. Government agency for several months now, and it's really hardly like you changed jobs since your Army days. The U.S. Department of Defense would take your failure to cooperate with this … let's just call it an investigation … somewhat personally."

That's sort of what he'd begun to assume, but hearing it out loud made him swallow hard. Instead of challenging her any further, he gave a short nod. "I'll do my best, Director Thornton."

What followed was an unexpectedly long stream of questions that Mac was surprised never really repeated the same question twice. He'd gone through security interviews for the Army and the necessary clearances for EOD and there was always the classic interrogation technique of repeated questions. But not this time.

She even asked him things that were in no way related to the warehouse incident. He answered anyway, because it seemed there was, a glimmer at least of, hope that maybe he wasn't going to drag Jack down with him. Finally, she asked a not strictly fact based question. "Why did you break into Dalton's filing cabinet?"

Mac looked down at his hands. "I saw that scrap of paper with the phone number … I have a friend in that area code. I know who he works for." He raised his eyes. "And I know who Jack used to work for. I knew he'd been investigating all this for me, but he hadn't said anything … I felt like he was trying to protect me from it … I don't need that … I didn't ask him to …"

He trailed off and sighed. Clearly he did need someone to protect him from it, because if Jack hadn't jumped in and done it, he'd be … Not here, patched up, and reasonably certain things would work out one way or another. He lifted his head to look directly in her eyes.

"I broke into his filing cabinet because I was curious. I wanted to know what he'd found and he didn't tell me. The truth of it is I do things without thinking sometimes, ma'am. And sometimes those things are not as smart as they ought to be given my capabilities. This was one of those times."

She nodded. "What made you call a cab and go to that address by yourself?"

Mac actually thought about it.

"Some of it was more curiosity … But … I didn't want to involve law enforcement or Jack or anyone if it was nothing. When they hit our patrol and … everything that happened after … No one believed that O'Neill was still alive … Told me I was wasting government resources … talked to me like I was falling apart …" He bit his lip. "I didn't want to go to anyone without evidence. I didn't just have a smartphone back in Afghanistan … but I did when I went to that warehouse. I was going to take pictures if I found anything, call Jack, call the police … I shouldn't have given up so easily in Afghanistan. I guess … I just didn't want …"

"You didn't want the people in charge to think you were irrational?"

"No!" he snapped. "I _wanted_ to believe them. I think I knew deep down that if O'Neill was alive like I thought, like I kept dreaming … That would mean he betrayed us … I didn't want to face that. I needed to see him with my own eyes."

Thornton leaned back in her chair. "Alright. I believe that. I also believe that Dalton did his job and made appropriate efforts to protect any truly classified information. You didn't see much that couldn't have been acquired through the Freedom of Information Act, to be honest."

Mac felt himself relax a little, but he decided to keep quiet.

"You screwed up," she said flatly. He just nodded. "And you nearly got yourself taken prisoner. I don't know if you realize this, MacGyver, but you still have information in your head …"

"I know that. It was all I was thinking about when they tied my hands. That … Everybody talks." He took an uneven breath. "I would have done my best, but that's never good enough. It doesn't matter who you are."

She nodded, almost surprised that had crossed his mind, but she couldn't help looking a little pleased. "You would have been killed. And you nearly got Dalton killed, not to mention putting a number of other members of this organization in jeopardy."

His head dropped a shamefaced fraction, then to cover it, he nodded. "I know it. I'm sorry. I'll be saying that a lot to Jack over the next few months while he recovers from my poor judgement, I expect, ma'am."

Now she let a smile actually lift one corner of her mouth. Her assignment here was to see if he had the emotional maturity to do the job she was meant to offer him. He clearly did. "And though you got involved through that poor judgement, you saved potentially millions of lives, Mac."

He blushed again and smiled slightly. "I'm just glad something good came of it, Director."

She stood up, moved in front of him. "So am I." She paused, then smiled just a little more visibly. "You're not fired."

Mac grinned. He couldn't help it. This was just the beginning of the talk he needed to have with her, with Jack. He had a million questions, a hundred thousand simultaneous ideas of what it might mean, but what he said was, "So who do I really work for?"

She extended her hand. "Welcome to the Department of External Services. DXS. We don't exist, so if you don't mind, your paycheck is still going to say X-Com."

Caught completely off guard, Mac stood again to shake her hand, immediately regretting it, gasping in a pained breath, and dropping back down to sit. "Ah … I … okay … thanks," he stammered through gritted teeth.

She shook her head. "Back to bed, Mac. I don't mind if my lab techs only half take care of themselves, but once you're in the know, all sorts of job opportunities open up."

He frowned, not quite processing what that might mean. "Job opportunities?"

"Well talk soon. When your fashion sense is a little less questionable."

He laughed a little. "Hey, if you let me limp as far as my gym locker, I can get actual pants, and we can go talk in your office in less than five minutes."

She turned to go. "I believe I already said 'back to bed' once. I don't like my orders being ignored, MacGyver. And when it comes to my staff I trust my medical personnel's judgement implicitly. And the doc says that's where you belong probably until tomorrow morning."

"Foster's an ass and he's still pissed off at me about …" he began, sounding just a little bit heated.

"Dr. Foster is no longer on your case. He just accepted the transfer this morning. Dr. Anderson made the recommendation. You got shot. Remember?" She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Only a little," he grumbled.

She laughed. "Now you really sound like Dalton. I'm not going to debate degrees of how much you got shot. Doc says you're staying, so the boss says you're staying. Capiche?" she asked with a very wry expression.

He managed a smile back. "Now you sound like Jack." She tipped her chin at the bed he was leaning against. "Yes, ma'am," he agreed, mostly because he had an awful lot to think about, and he was kind of hurting too much to do so clearly.

She gave him an approving nod and exited the room. Mac took off his jacket and flannel, but couldn't quite manage to bend to take off his boots without his wounded leg making him want to throw up. He heaved a sigh and just stretched out on the bed, boots and all. He glanced toward Jack's bed, his partner still apparently dead to the world. Mac smirked. "You were awake that whole time, weren't you."

Without opening his eyes, Jack cracked a smile. "Maybe a little."

"Thanks for letting me face Jaws the Home Game all by myself," he snickered.

"Ah, she didn't even use her scary voice at all, bud."

"Coulda fooled me."


	22. Chapter 22

Mac had gotten up early, finished his disappointing breakfast, grouched at a couple of nurses about wanting to leave, then when that didn't work, he flirted with one.

After he'd gotten a little bit of his way, he got dressed and had a second coffee by the time Jack peeled his eyes open the following morning. Jack was still hurting a fair bit, but he couldn't quite help smiling in spite of it as he watched Mac awkwardly pace the room on crutches.

Mac overbalanced and cursed softly as he accidentally touched the foot on his injured leg to the floor. "I seriously hate crutches," he groused.

"You could sit down, ya know, bud. Just because you conned that nurse who's been makin' eyes at you into getting your clothes outta your gym locker … and takin' out that IV port, which may or may not get her in trouble, I might add …

"It's not gonna get her in trouble," he interrupted. "Letting me do it myself, on the other hand …"

Jack went on like Mac hadn't spoken. "It don't really mean squat. Nobody official actually said you're goin' anywhere yet."

Mac tossed him a glare. "Oh, I'm going. And I'm getting tired of waiting."

Mac looked at the clock he'd conned the very same cute nurse into bringing him from the lab yesterday. He grinned a little when he thought about how he'd gotten what he wanted this morning, too. Of course, an ability to flirt wasn't new to Mac. Knowing what the hell to do once you had a girl's interest was a slightly different story.. He was still on shaky ground there, but he thought he was improving those particular people skills.

He was pretty sure that was one of the things you just had to keep trying to figure out on your own. Otherwise he'd ask Jack. Jack seemed to have pleasant feminine company whenever he wanted it. Right now Mac would settle for any company not in scrubs. He sighed. Then he resumed his hobbling laps around the room.

"If you're leaving anyway, what's your hurry? Call your ride already?"

"Ride? I'm driving my Jeep home. It's been parked here for over a week."

Jack frowned at him. "For one thing, your right leg had a bullet take a big ole chunk out of it a couple evenings ago, which probably means you shouldn't drive with it. And for another, even if it wasn't your bum leg thatcha need, you can't drive full of pain meds."

Mac rolled his eyes. "For one thing," he mimicked, "nobody has said I can't drive with this leg, and for another I haven't taken more than Tylenol since late yesterday because I figured somebody would use that as an excuse to keep me here. I haven't even had any of _that_ this morning."

Mac was pretty clearly hurting, although he was doing a decent job keeping it under wraps. Jack sighed a little at Mac's dogged refusal to just admit to any weakness. "I feel like people hafta keep saying this, and I'm gonna go ahead and point out how weird … and familiar … it is, but you got shot, you know."

Mac stopped and looked at him with an elaborate purposeful eye roll. "Gee, Jack, I forgot all about that."

Jack shifted a little to better look Mac in the eye and wound up grimacing in pain instead, closing his eyes for a minute. He thought he'd been hurt before. Hell, he'd spent most of his life throwing his body into every kind of physical abuse that presented itself, right up from getting chewed out by his coach the first day of peewee football because tackling was supposed to be against the rules, on through the Army, the CIA, and now this. But nothing he'd been through before quite prepared him for this kind of pain. He'd heard people say back injuries were the worst. Now he believed it.

Mac must've noticed the face he'd been making because when Jack opened his eyes again, Mac was standing next to him, leaning on his crutches, looking down with an expression of intense concern. "You want me to get somebody, Jack?"

Jack shook his head. "They're already giving me as much as I'll take, pain management-wise, kid. I've been overmedicated once or twice before, and I'm not dealing with that again."

Mac's face creased into an expression that was almost a frown, but was too contemplative to quite get there. "How often does stuff like this happen to you, Jack?"

Jack wanted to be honest, sure. But he also didn't want to scare the kid off. Thornton seemed very pleased that Mac was in the know now, and had come to talk to him about it last night while Mac was off getting some sort of imaging test that he'd only grumpily agreed to because the tech who showed up to take him said letting them get the scan the doc wanted was his fastest ticket to getting cut loose. _Assuming everything looked okay_ , the tech had added under his breath.

Thornton gave Jack permission to read Mac in. Within reason, she'd said. _Now, what the hell does that mean?_ he'd asked. She'd given him that enigmatic smile she so often wore that told him she knew God's own secrets, and said, _Let's just get him started, Jack. You know he'll be brilliant at this. Like he's always been at anything that can hold his attention. The problem with Angus MacGyver is holding his attention. Baby steps._

Thing was, Jack didn't want to bullshit the kid, either. Jack had gotten to walk into this with all the cards on the table, and he wanted Mac to have the same opportunity. He also didn't want to get fired, since he'd very narrowly avoided being in trouble this go round. He'd be honest, but keep it to just answering direct questions for now. "Not like every day or anything, kid. But, you know, often enough."

Mac was about to ask something else. Jack could tell from his expression. But the doctor walked in, accompanied by Patricia Thornton. "Morning, guys," Dr. Anderson greeted, unable to keep from smiling at little at Mac's clearly communicated let's-get-this-show-on-the-road wardrobe, expression, and demeanor. "Going somewhere this morning, Mac?"

"Home," he said in a tone that wasn't exactly a challenge, but came damned close. "Just waiting on my walking papers, Doc. The cable in this place sucks." He flashed a charming smile at the doctor and Thornton.

Anderson shook his head, amused in spite of himself. "Since it was clear you weren't to be deterred, Rachel said she already went over instructions with you. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir. Like I said, just waiting for the greenlight from you to get out of here."

Jack helpfully supplied, "And him waiting shows an awful lot of personal growth since I met the kid, so, ya know, give 'im some credit."

"That's not even … shut up," Mac sputtered at Jack and rolled his eyes. Pretending Jack hadn't spoken, Mac looked back at Anderson. "So? Am I good?"

The doctor agreed, albeit a little reluctantly. Reluctant doctor or not, Mac's grin lit up the whole room. Then he swore under his breath.

"Damn. My keys are at Jack's so …"

Thornton and the doctor both shook their heads, but Anderson was the one who spoke. "I'm not really comfortable with you driving just yet anyway, Mac."

Mac sighed, but thought for a minute. "If I called a friend to come and get me, would that be a massive security breach or something?"

"You want to call Wilt Bozer, a civilian, to come pick you up from the infirmary at DXS where you just finished being treated for a bullet wound?" Patricia asked sternly, with a sharp raise of one eyebrow.

"No, I want to call Wilt Bozer, my friend and roommate, who incidentally represents the logical choice if I need a ride somewhere, to come pick me up from the X-Com infirmary, where I've been because of the carjacking you guys sold to the cops. It's in the local police blotter. Boze follows those for movie ideas. I was gonna tell him I twisted my bad knee because I decided to get my old longboard out. You guys are the ones who made it so I had to admit to a bullet graze."

Mac looked down for a minute, then back up.

"Thanks a lot for that by the way. He's been blowing up my phone every hour on the hour for the last day and a half," he said sarcastically, but with a slight grin. Honestly he thought that made him look good. He wanted them to know the information being out there was on them, and he was the one who'd been doing damage control.

Thornton gave him a thoughtful once over. "I'll have someone retrieve your key and drive you and your Jeep home. No need to trouble Mr. Bozer. That way I'll be certain you actually go directly home, following Dr. Anderson's orders."

Mac huffed a sigh, but decided not to argue. Since he'd technically been home sick and was supposedly resting on doctor's orders when he'd blown the lid off the Mazari dirty bomb situation he supposed that was fair. "Yes, ma'am."

Knowing he wasn't exactly there yet, but pretty dedicated to not being forgotten in the getting the hell out of here conversation, Jack interjected, "When can I get somebody to drive me home?" Then he added with a wink, "Tracy up in accounting has offered a few times before when I was stuck here, and I can't say I'd be against taking her up on it."

Thornton laughed lightly. "Only you could be worried about who your going to hit on next, with a broken back and a no strenuous activity directive on your chart that's unlikely to go away for months."

"Jack's never been afraid of playing the sympathy card," Mac snickered. "Remember Lieutenant … what was her name … Myers?"

"Trina, yeah. Trina Myers. I maybe limped around a little more than that strain called for, but hey," Jack grinned, "She was a nurse so she had to know I was playin' it up. Besides you got her friend's undivided attention for a minute."

"Which I very much appreciated at the time," Mac grinned. "So about that ride home?" he prompted, returning the subject to his primary area of interest.

"I've already sent the orders on my tablet, Mac. Maybe you could sit down for a few minutes while you wait."

Under normal circumstances that would have come across as a question or an offer. Mac didn't mistake it for either, hearing the order in her tone very clearly. It raised his hackles a bit, but he sat, in the chair next to Jack's bed, rather than the bed that had been his. He was done with that bed, thank you very much, and he wanted that clear to everyone in the room.

Not to be deterred either, Jack said, "Yeah, and my ride home? How about we talk about that one, too?"

Anderson contemplated the agent for a moment. "If you didn't live alone, Jack, I'd be comfortable letting you go later today or early tomorrow, but …"

"He can stay with me and Boze," Mac interrupted. Jack hated being hurt worse than anyone Mac knew, flirting with nurses as a preference notwithstanding. And the way Jack's face immediately fell at the 'if you didn't live alone' made him want to help.

"Not offering to stay with Agent Dalton this time, Mac?" Thornton asked.

Mac's brain skated over the term 'agent' for the moment. "Well, ma'am, Bozer is pretty worried about me and he wants me home as soon as I can be. And he and Jack get along like family already, so I know he won't mind looking after Jack, too, and …" Mac trailed off.

"And what?" Thornton prompted.

"And our place is all on one floor, ma'am. I know Jack probably won't be able to do stairs for a while and … Well, frankly ma'am, not to complain, but just the idea of getting in and out of the Jeep this morning makes me not all that happy. Jack's place is a fourth floor walk-up.."

Seemingly satisfied that Mac was at least admitting to being less than superhuman at the moment, mostly because it meant he was unlikely to walk out and get himself immediately in more trouble, Thornton nodded. "I think that's a very good idea. And it will give you time to read the materials I'm having my assistant prepare for you and ask Jack any questions you might have about the organization and my vision for the role you can fill in it."

As though that was all she really came for, Thornton turned and left without even saying goodbye. Anderson shook his head like he was used to it, then looked at both of his patients more critically. "Now that we've established what work says about your plans, how about we talk about the medical stuff neither of you want to hear?"


	23. Chapter 23

Jack saw it coming, probably before Mac did.

Although it took him some time, too.

Once it came down to actually getting out of bed unassisted and jumping through the necessary metaphorical hoops to get the doctor to discharge him, Jack found himself spending a few more days in the hospital. And it informed him that jumping through actual hoops would be off the table for awhile.

For Jack, those extra days meant by the time he was allowed to leave with Mac (who just showed up with his Jeep and ignored the looks the medical staff gave him for driving on his own), his pain was down to manageable and he'd figured out how to move around without causing too much more of it.

For Mac, it meant an awful lot of time alone with the triple-password-protected tablet Thornton had sent him home with. Time reading and rereading information about DXS. Time lying to his best friend about what had happened. And about who he really worked for. Time thinking about how he wasn't even sure who that was either.

Jack had seen the tension in Mac's face, in his posture, when he'd hobbled into the infirmary (still dutifully using the crutches) to pick him up. He didn't say anything though. He figured whatever was really bothering the kid was better off coming out on its own.

Between the sling he was wearing for his injured shoulder, and how carefully he had to breathe to keep from setting off a cascade of pain that felt like lightning bolts zapping his legs, Jack didn't think he could give Mac and whatever was going on in his head the attention it deserved when he first got to Mac's place anyway. It took everything he had to just get through the basics of being alive. Being a sympathetic ear was out of the question for a few days.

Mac was clearly sensitive to Jack's plight, and also still obviously struggling a little with his own injury, not to mention Bozer's relentless questions, helpful suggestions, and general grandmotherly levels of fussing. But none of that seemed to distract Mac or even ease whatever was causing him to slowly wind himself up.

That tension felt like a gathering storm until the following weekend rolled around. Bozer had taken several days off (over Mac's protests) to take care of both of them, but a busy Los Angeles Friday night had him called in to work. He fretted endlessly until Mac practically chased him out the door. The minute it was closed, Mac's shoulders lowered in what was definitely relief, and he propped his crutches against the wall, right by the door and limped over to the refrigerator.

"Want anything?" he called casually to Jack, who was propped up on the couch and giving him a very distinctive look. Mac glanced up when Jack didn't answer, and caught his expression. "I don't need them, Jack," he said flatly, interpreting the look.

Accurately, Jack had to admit.

"You sure about that, because I seem to recall the doc was …"

"Passing on Thornton's directive instead of offering an actual medical opinion. Which is crap. I've done my research and recovery-wise I'm probably better off starting to use the leg than not."

"You sure it was a Thornton thing?" Jack asked, skeptical.

"He flat out said, 'The Director wanted me to remind you', not that he thought I needed to be using them. Like I said. It's crap."

Mac got himself a beer, then looked over at Jack, who was still taking prescription pain meds every four hours, and put it back in favor of a soda. Jack hadn't answered his question about wanting anything, but he got him one too and made his way over to the chair around the short end of the coffee table so he could put his foot up and keep reading.

Jack opened his soda without comment, other than, "Thanks, bud."

Then he studied Mac for a long moment as the blond's eyes traveled back and forth over whatever he was reading and a line found its way back across his forehead. The tension he'd seen leave Mac's body when he closed the door on Bozer and his next-level mother hen superpowers crept back into everything about him.

Jack cleared his throat. "Um … did Thornton send you more material to read?"

Mac didn't look up, but his frown deepened. "Uh, no, nothing new. Why?"

Jack took a deep breath. This was going to be a can of worms. He could tell. "It's just you're usually such a fast reader … I was wondering why you weren't finished?"

He let it be a question. Mac could rarely resist a question.

This time Mac looked up. _Ha_ , Jack thought, _I knew that would get him_. "Just rereading some stuff. Trying … to figure some things out."

Jack wasn't sure he ought to move, but he did, sitting up to better face Mac, and almost smiling because it hurt a little less than it did the last time he'd done it without Bozer on his elbow insisting on helping. Mac did smile when he noticed the increased ease Jack was moving with. He still felt guilty as hell about Jack getting hurt and seeing him improving was assuaging that somewhat. However, he could tell Jack was about to push. Maybe not a lot, but he definitely had something on his mind. Mac felt like he had too much on his own at the moment to take on Jack's stuff, too.

But instead of pushing or asking more questions, Jack just offered, "Thornton said I could answer questions for you, kid. I'll know if we're skirting anything I'm not authorized to talk about with you."

Mac thought about it for a minute, then nodded slowly, powering down the company tablet and setting it on the coffee table. He leaned back in his chair, trying to look relaxed, knew immediately that he was failing miserably, and picked up a paperclip out of a small scattered pile and started fidgeting with it.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"What's the mission?"

Jack frowned. "Usually whatever the boss says it is, kid."

"No," Mac frowned, frustrated that he hadn't articulated this better. " Like the organizational mission." He paused as Jack's frown further creased his mobile face. "You know, like the Army's mission is, 'To fight and win our Nation's wars, by providing prompt, sustained, land dominance, across the full range of military operations and the spectrum of conflict, in support of combatant commanders.' And the CIA's is 'to strengthen national security and foreign policy objectives through the clandestine collection of human intelligence and covert action.'"

Jack's expression changed to a grin at the way Mac just rattled all that off. Jack was sure if he looked them up, those would be the exact mission statements his former employers had issued to the public. Jack wished he had a better answer, but had to shrug. "Since DXS doesn't really officially exist … I don't think we really have a mission statement, Mac. Other than 'get the job done when everybody else can't'."

Mac chewed on that for a few minutes. Well, actually what he chewed on was the inside of his cheeks, but Jack knew that meant he was deep in thought, so even if he said anything else, Mac might not even hear him.

Finally, Mac returned his eyes to Jack's. "What kind of jobs?"

Jack bit his lip, trying to decide how much he could reasonably say without checking with Thornton. Mac had been afforded the most basic of clearances at this point. He decided 'screw it', if Thornton wanted the kid to work for her, he deserved some honest answers while he made the decision about that.

He forced a chuckle. "Well, kid, some days it's still like Delta, and some days all I am is a personal security guard for somebody smarter than me who has to go do a job, but, it ain't ever boring," he began.

Mac looked at the sling Jack was still wearing very pointedly. "I'll bet." He paused, thinking again. "I know you can't give me specifics, but how about some generalities? You know, other than not boring." He managed a smirk.

Jack nodded, then his face screwed up into his thinking expression. "I mean, lots of stuff you'd expect I guess. Feels kind of like this job is if the Army and the CIA had a baby," he laughed. "I've been part of rescuing Americans overseas … Retrieval teams for sensitive equipment, like crashed satellites … That's how I got typhoid, actually. Um … intelligence gathering stuff. And um, you know … I've put my sniper skills to use a time or two, I guess."

Mac shifted forward in his seat, dropping his feet to the floor, and moving to rest his forearms on his thighs. He immediately swore and leaned back, putting his injured leg back up on the coffee table. Jack didn't react with anything other than a brow raised with concern, which Mac immediately waved off.

"That was stupid," he said with a head shake. Jack didn't disagree and his mild expression said so. Mac looked at his leg, then back at Jack. "I'll be right back. I'm gonna go make sure I didn't just open this back up."

Jack nodded. "You'd make your life a helluva a lot easier if you just wore gym shorts or something until that's healed a little more. Shorts make takin' care of a leg wound slightly less of a pain in the ass," he observed.

Mac let Jack's experience with leg wounds slide for a moment. He shrugged as he got slowly to his feet. "I don't have a lot of shorts I guess."

"I hope that's not about that itty bitty scar on your knee you told me you got when you were still a pup, because if that made you self conscious I'd hate to think what this scar will do."

Mac grinned. "Nah, I kind of like my scars. They're mostly good stories. But I don't ride or surf much anymore. No time I guess."

Then he headed toward his room. He was gone for long enough that Jack figured one of two things happened. Either Mac had actually reopened the wound by leaning on it and he was in there debating with himself about using super glue on it versus going to the infirmary. Or he'd spent more time thinking over Jack's answers and was maybe not thrilled with the conclusions he was coming to.

His expression when he returned, now clad in long oversized basketball shorts, told Jack it was the later.

This time when he limped to the fridge he did take out a beer. Remembering Jack wasn't necessarily one to eschew all alcohol, pain meds be damned, he offered one to the older man who was looking at it longingly.

Jack's answer made Mac pull a face that looked to Jack like the kid had tasted something bad. "No thanks, bud. Doc said no booze … I better toe the line. If the boss catches wind of it, she won't be happy."

Mac frowned then. "How the hell would she even know?"

Jack gave a slight shrug, just enough to remind himself that the movement was not yet back to comfortable. "She always seems to know … whatever she needs to, I guess."

Mac hummed an annoyed little noise but sat back down near Jack, taking a long pull off his beer. Then he leveled his sharp blue eyes at Jack and Jack felt for all the world like he was caught in someone's laser sight.

"You've shot people for DXS?" Mac asked, with no preface.

Jack wouldn't have chosen to phrase it that way, but he wasn't surprised that Mac did. Mac had never hidden his distaste for that part of the job, or for the idea that the best defense was a good offense. Instead of trying to dress that up, Jack just nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I have." Feeling the need to defend it a little, Jack added, "But they were real bad dudes, Mac."

Mac nodded. "I never thought you went after the good guys, man." He was quiet for a minute. "But Jack … bad guys or not … outside a war zone … that's assassination. Even CIA won't touch that."

"I told ya, kid. DXS gets the job done. I can't really think of another way to put it."

Mac finished his entire beer in several long swallows. Then he got himself another, his limp just a little more pronounced than it was when he first discarded the crutches. He didn't offer Jack one this time.

When he got back to his seat, Jack was looking at his phone. He glanced up as Mac eased himself back into his seat. "Thornton just texted me." He expected Mac to ask about it, but Mac just looked a strange combination of curious and like he didn't want to know. "You're expected in her office at six am on Monday so she can officially brief you in."

"Why didn't she text me?" he asked.

"She wanted me to confirm it with you. She's like that, bud. Two plans for everything and a secret backup plan in case those don't work out."

"So, she's a control freak," Mac observed.

He wasn't much for plans, himself, and had an innate mistrust of anyone who relied on them over much.

"Never met anyone in her line of work that wasn't," Jack returned with a small smile.

"And what's that, exactly?"

"Before taking on the job as DO of DXS? Only being the most successful clandestine operative in US history. James Bond has nothin' on Patricia Thornton."

"James Bond is English, big guy."

"Yeah well. Maybe both countries then."

"So, she's a spy?"

Jack shrugged. "Sort of, yeah."

Mac frowned. "What does that make you?"

Jack just shook his head, not quite sure what to make of the slight challenge in Mac's tone. "On the DL at the moment. And definitely not James Bond."

That seemed to close the subject.

They wound up watching _Star Wars_. Mac didn't pick up, not did he bring up, the tablet or its contents again, but Jack knew he was still thinking about it, if only by the heavy sighs Mac was t even aware of. And every sigh felt like a gust of wind acting as a harbinger of the storm to come.

Boze came in as they were about halfway in to _Empire_ and caught Mac at the fridge without his crutches. Mac tried just heading back to his chair and ignoring Bozer, but Boze wouldn't have it. Then rant started almost before he'd gotten through the door.

"You need to just do what you're told and get better Mac! You act like this isn't a big deal, but it is! You'd think you still get shot at for a living!"

He went and got Mac's crutches and thrust them into his hands.

"You use those until the doctor says not to! Or I swear I'll call Mom! That's a order!" he finished sharply and stalked off, presumably to either shower and change, or rat Mac out to Mrs. Bozer and elicit a disapproving parental type phone call.

The flexing of Mac's jaw and the way his eyes hardened just a little told Jack that Mac didn't really care which. He wasn't even really paying attention. Mac said flatly, "I'm going to bed," and limped off toward his room, leaving his crutches right where he'd propped them against the sofa when Boze left the room.

Mac's door closed a little loudly. Jack sensed, though he couldn't have pinpointed exactly why, the the sound was the first ripple of thunder in the storm he'd been sensing. Whatever came next, that storm was about to break.


	24. Chapter 24

Mac had assumed he was going to handle his meeting with Thornton with the same level-headed scientific approach he'd tried to handle everything else to date. But she spoke first.

"Care to explain why you aren't using your crutches?"

It immediately raised his hackles. Instead of actually explaining his reasoning, which was certainly sound based on everything he'd read, he just said, "Not really," in a voice that was nearly flat, but for the tinge of annoyance he couldn't keep out of it.

"Was Dr. Anderson not clear with you about my orders?"

Mac shrugged, taking a seat without being asked. He didn't need the damned crutches, but that didn't mean he felt like standing on that leg for extended periods just yet. "Orders, ma'am? I read the organizational chart in the briefing materials you sent me and I guess I'm not clear about how the DO making my healthcare decisions for me fits into that."

This time his tone had taken on a little bit of a challenge.

Thornton's expression was unreadable. It was almost as though she'd expected him to come in with an antagonistic attitude. "Let me clarify for you then." Her eyebrows climbed a bit. "You were a soldier. Surely you've been told that if you damage government property anyone in charge of you can issue an Article 15 for destruction of government property. Well, Mac, as I already explained, technically at DXS, you still work for the government, even the same cabinet organization as when you were EOD."

Mac shook his head, trying to keep the smirk off his face. "Ma'am, I appreciate the application of that tactic. But it's a myth. Nobody, not even the jarheads, actually think any enlisted man or woman is government property. Well, okay, the Marines maybe do a little. But the Uniform Code of Military Justice just doesn't support that."

She looked surprised and he felt like he should keep going. He hated intimidation as a tactic for superiors to get what they wanted out of you. It reminded him … well, of his childhood. He wasn't about to feel like that again all the time. He wasn't a child and he had no intention of being treated like one, or mistreated like one, as the case may be.

"The best medical information I've found says I need to be using this leg or it'll be worse in the long run. If I were still a soldier, and I'm not, you could site me for not following medical orders, but the only proof you'd have would be if I'd caused harm to myself in that fashion. And it still wouldn't be because I was anybody's property, ma'am."

The Cheshire Cat smile made an appearance. "Well, you're better informed than most, I suppose."

"Count on it, ma'am. Information is important to me."

She tilted her head in what Mac interpreted as a slight nod. "Which is why you will be invaluable in the job I have in mind for you once we get you properly trained and perhaps better conditioned to take care of yourself and follow agency directives."

"What job is that, exactly, ma'am? Because I'm getting the impression you don't mean for me to continue working in the lab."

She paused for a moment, looking at the computer screen next to her, then back over her desk at Mac. "What my supervisors propose is that you be fully brought into the organization and trained as a clandestine field operative. With your engineering and explosives expertise, you would be invaluable advancing the mission in our international theater."

A line formed across Mac's forehead and his eyes narrowed just a bit. "And what is that mission, ma'am?"

She looked at her computer again before answering and Mac got the distinct impression that someone or someones were listening to their conversation and telling her what to say. That made him extremely uncomfortable. If someone other than Thornton wanted to have this conversation with him, if the overall director of DXS wanted to talk to him about the organization, then they ought to drag their ass into this office and do so.

"To make the world a better, safer place."

"How?" Mac asked, the edge unmistakable now. He was becoming suspicious of this whole situation. He felt manipulated, but he couldn't say why or how.

"By any means necessary," Thornton answered plainly.

Mac nodded. That's sort of what he thought. Then he grinned a little. "And what you want is for me to be Double Oh Seven for you, using any means necessary, huh?" His inner twelve year old thought that was pretty cool for a second.

"Given our access to technology and the resources of just about every agency our government has to offer, I suppose that, yes, James Bond is a little bit of what we were hoping for when Dalton approached you."

Mac's grin dissolved instantly into a frown. "Was that why Jack came out to my grandfather's cabin. Was he trying to recruit me?"

Thornton actually laughed, and to Mac it sounded genuine. "Of course not. He asked for leave to check on a friend. I don't approve things like that for my agents without knowing exactly what they are doing. When I confirmed the friend was you, it seemed like an excellent opportunity. So I gave him the time."

Instead of smoothing his worry lines, that information seemed to deepen them. "Did you already know who I was?"

Not missing a beat, Thornton replied, "Dalton had been your overwatch. Of course I did. His protective instincts with you during his time in Afghanistan were the thing, probably more than any other, that made DXS offer him the job once you'd been discharged. And your talent in the field had certainly been marked. I rather let Jack in on the idea that we'd like to hire you, but not what for. I doubt he'd have participated in that, at least initially."

"I," Mac began, then just stopped, rubbing his forehead absently.

Thornton took the opening. "Mac, you would be a huge asset to the intelligence community. Once you're trained and disciplined, you could …"

Mac cleared his throat to interrupt. "What sort of training would that be?"

Thornton glanced at the computer again and the gesture made Mac swallow hard against the urge to call her on it. Then her gaze returned to him. "What you might expect, I suppose. Additional hand to hand combat training to augment what you learned in the Army, training in things like maintaining a cover, deception, intelligence gathering, more explosives training, certainly physical conditioning, resisting interrogation, conducting interrogations, resource management, weapons and firearms training …"

Mac interrupted again. "I don't use firearms, ma'am."

She flashed him a tight smile that wasn't altogether friendly this time.

"That's not really an option in this line of work Mac. You perform the job the way you're ordered to perform the job, with every tool you have available. Which often includes the use of firearms. Despite Dalton's lack of other important skills, his firearms training and mastery is one of the things that make him invaluable to our organization. Your scientific mind is what's attractive to us, be we need to know that you won't close off any avenue to completing a mission as directed."

Mac nodded slowly, which Thornton took to mean agreement, but then he spoke, revealing that it was only understanding he indicated. "I don't believe I can do that job, Director Thornton. I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

"What do you mean 'can't do the job'?" she asked sharply. "You were born to do this job."

Mac shook his head. "No ma'am. If my time in the military taught me nothing else, I at least learned that I'm not meant to break anything or anyone down. I think I need to find work that actively makes the world better. Not one that tries to attack the things bringing it down. And I'm not taking a job that uses guns. Not ever."

"You didn't seem to mind Dalton using one to protect you, either in the Army or in that warehouse the other day."

She saw her mistake the second the words left her lips.

"I did mind though, ma'am. In Afghanistan I tolerated it. I had regrets about my enlistment the first day of Basic Tr … No, before that. I had regrets almost immediately. I'm not wired to take orders, to be an unquestioning tool of someone's organization. I'm not saying there's not honor in being that person, because there is. There a few people I've ever respected like I respect Jack Dalton and at his core he is a soldier, ready to take orders and do what the higher ups need him to do, no questions asked. But that's just not me, ma'am. And I don't want it to be."

He hadn't realized he was going to say it before it came out of his mouth, but once it did, he knew it was the absolute truth. It hit him, sort of right in the middle of his chest. The sudden certainty that he needed to walk away from this.

He got to his feet, and walked around to the corner of her desk, almost smiling when Thornton turned off her computer monitor. He extended his hand. "Director, thank you for the offer, for the opportunity, but I must respectfully decline. It was a pleasure working for you in Applied Sciences. I hope I can use X-Com as a reference."

She shook his hand, but Thornton's usually neutral face couldn't conceal either her surprise or her disappointment. "You don't even want to stay on in your job in the lab?" she asked, incredulous.

"No, ma'am. I believe I'd be more comfortable in an organization where the mission statement supported the work I want to do. Building solutions, not destroying what someone else decides are problems." He released Thornton's hand. "But I can't thank you enough. Letting Jack come to me out at the cabin, allowing me to get back to work, it really got me back on track. I appreciate it. And I understand that the NDA I signed is binding even though I no longer work for you."

He heard her little almost hiccough of air at his bald statement. He almost cracked a smile. He'd just wrongfooted the Ice Queen herself (as Jack sometimes referred to his boss). There was a little satisfaction in that. She was old enough to be his mother and purportedly the world's best spy and he'd just surprised her. That was a little ego gratifying for sure.

She cleared her throat. "Of course your work with X-Com warrants a reference, Mac. And please know that you're injury is fully covered under the terms of your employment. You can continue to access our infirmary and fitness facilities for your rehab until the doctor clears you completely."

Mac smiled politely. "I appreciate that, ma'am. I think I'd rather see a private physician if I need any follow up care. I'd rather be out cleanly. I'm sure you understand."

She glanced at the computer like she forgot she'd dimmed the screen, but offered. "Then please allow us to provide you with insurance until you've fully recovered."

Knowing that would mean she could probably still access any records associated with it, he shook his head. He didn't need to be treated like government property to remember that he didn't like how that felt. "I'll be fine, ma'am."

"Would you at least allow us to defray your expenses with a severance bonus of some sort, with the understanding that you look after yourself with it, given that you were injured while in our employ?" she offered as a last ditch effort to keep Mac in the fold. The boss was not going to be happy with this turn of events at all.

Mac took a half step toward the door. "I got injured doing my own thing, ma'am. I appreciate that Jack came in and saved the day, I do. And I appreciate that DXS will continue to pursue O'Neill and his organization so I don't need to feel responsible for him. But I got hurt being foolish. I'll do the same thing I did when I cut myself with my grandfather's chainsaw a few months ago. If I need to, I'll go to the emergency room or whatever, and I'll pay the bill as I can, like millions of other Americans. But I appreciate the offer. Good luck to you. I hope you catch O'Neill sooner rather than later. He's dangerous." He turned to leave.

His hand was on the doorknob when she called out, "Mac!"

He turned back to her, but pulled the door open nonetheless. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Good luck to you as well," she offered, sounding like she really meant it.

"Thank you, Director," he replied, and then he left, walking down the hall with a surprising spring in his step, given the fairly pronounced limp that still limited him.

He was his own man again, he thought. From the moment he'd learned he was back to working for the government he'd felt oddly unsettled, constrained. Now he could figure something else out, do something that really built something new, something better, something that helped people for its own sake.

He was feeling pretty good about his situation, knowing he had money to live on from life insurance from his mother and grandfather, that he had a home and good investments. When he climbed into his Jeep his phone buzzed. He took it out of his pocket and his face fell.

The text was from Jack. 'How'd it go?'

Mac decided to wait to respond. He'd rather tell Jack in person that he was once again unemployed.


	25. Chapter 25

Mac didn't know how to interpret the look Jack was giving him. He sighed. "Go ahead."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead and what, bud?" he asked.

"Yell at me for quitting my job and being all … what did you say back up north … shiftless … or some old-timey word only you could get away with using," he said crossing his arms and looking altogether like he wanted to shrink out of this situation, or at least sink into the chair.

Jack chuckled fondly. "Why the hell would I yell atcha for making a decision to take care of yourself, kid?"

Mac's mouth opened like he might respond, but he closed it again, looking confused. It just made Jack laugh a little more.

"I came and chewed you out up at your grandad's cabin because you weren't takin' care of anything about yourself, Mac. You were treating yourself like a second class citizen and burying yourself in pointless tasks, cutting yourself off from your friends. Now you're here … It's not like Boze and I are gonna let that happen again regardless of where you decide to work, bud."

Now Mac leaned back, his arms still folded, but more in the skeptical, amused sort of way Jack had become accustomed to than in the self-protective gesture he'd sported only a moment before. "You look really pleased with yourself right now," Mac observed. "What gives?"

Jack shifted on the couch and then gasped at the movement. Mac was on his feet immediately. "Hey … Did you take your pills this morning, man?"

Jack shifted again, back to a more comfortable position. "I did, ya worrywart. I also maybe walked a few laps around the house to see if I could loosen things up …"

"Jack!" Mac was incensed. "Are you supposed to be doing that yet?"

Jack laughed out loud. "Look who's talkin', gimpy."

Mac smiled and then sat down on the couch next to Jack. "You're okay?"

"I'm okay, bud." Jack put a hand on Mac's shoulder. "How about you?"

"I … I'm good. A little … upset isn't the right word. Unsettled maybe. I knew you didn't really work at a think tank though," he said with an amused challenge in his voice.

"Guilty. I don't do much thinkin' for 'em. But I guess maybe we can't really talk about that anymore, huh?"

Mac nodded. "I guess not." He gave Jack a long speculative look. "Back to my original question. Why do you look so damned pleased about that?"

"Honestly, kid?" Jack asked. Mac tilted his chin in a 'go on' sort of motion. "It used to give me fits watchin' your back in the Sandbox. Seemed like you were tryin' to get yourself killed half the time." He smiled a little at Mac's half embarrassed expression. "Then I realized you really just didn't think about it. You weren't tryin' to be reckless, you were just very focused on your job."

"Yeah, I've been told I can sort of over-focus on certain things. I never saw it as a problem though," Mac said quietly.

Jack chuckled. "I don't think it is either, bud. When you're in the lab or your garage. In the field, it scares the hell outta me."

Mac flushed a little, thinking that Jack was covering the sentiment with a laugh, but he clearly meant the words. "So you're glad I quit because you don't want to worry about me anymore?" he teased. "Good! Because you're a legitimate pain in the ass when you're worried."

"Oh, kid. Don't let's get ahead of ourselves here. As far as me watchin' your back, we are Charlie Mike."

"So, I'm a mission?" he laughed. "I don't think I'll need an overwatch for whatever I do next, Jack. I think the last couple of months have cured me … No, you know what, the last couple of years … All of it. I'm good. No more crazy assed adventures for Angus MacGyver. I think maybe I wanna be boring. Boze thinks I should be an actor anyway. That sounds boring enough."

Jack laughed. "You'd still need a stuntman, kid. Now, that'd be a hell of a job. If I ever quit workin' for Uncle Sam, maybe that's what I'll do."

Mac's face drew down into a frown. "If you ever let your back heal, man."

"Oh, man, Carl's Junior, you don't know what you're letting yourself in for. Fussing over me like the terror that is Brother Bear Bozer. I am the Overwatch in this relationship, you pup, and I call hovering privileges in perpetuity after the way you've been since I hurt my back."

Instead of responding to the amused teasing in Jack's voice, Mac got quiet. "It's my fault, Jack."

This time Jack turned and sat forward with no hesitation and as far as he could tell it didn't actually hurt quite like he imagined Hell would, so that was a plus. "Now, kid, I told you we were gonna talk about shit that was your fault, and me getting my sorry ass hurt wasn't one of the things we'd be talkin' about, right? Because that ain't your fault, kid. I was doing my job. Don't matter if it wasn't a sanctioned mission, kid. If I see something like that in progress, I don't care if I know the dumbass involved or not, I'm duty bound to step in."

Mac shook his head, his folded arms tightening until they looked stubborn. "You can say whatever you want, Jack, but the fact is …"

"The fact is that you broke into my file cabinet." Mac swallowed hard. "The fact is that you didn't give one lick of a thought to whether or not you ought to go out to the address you found, unarmed and unprepared." Mac's eyes dropped. "The fact is that you don't have any training that would have prepared you to find anything other than maybe a bomb with nobody guarding it in that warehouse. And you went anyway."

"I know, Jack, and I …"

"The fact is, if you'd cleaned up after yourself first instead of just rushing out the door, I wouldn't have known where you went. They would have taken you with them, and they would have done all manner of impolite things to you and you would have told them everything you ever learned, up to and including when you got outta diapers, kid. And then they would have killed you. And I woulda lost my favorite dumb genius." Mac raised his eyes to Jack's, looking a little like he was torn between crying and yelling. "And I never could have forgiven you if that had happened, Mac. I mean it now."

Mac nodded slowly. "I know. It was stupid. It's part of why I said no to Thornton, I guess." He paused for almost a full minute, but Jack gave him the space to think. "I'm really sorry I broke into that cabinet, Jack. Not just because it's a shit thing to do … But, I should have waited, should have trusted you. I just …"

He trailed off, the war between wanting to yell and wanting to cry finally won by the latter, and he knew if he kept talking he would and he didn't want to.

"You don't trust easy, kid. I know." Mac wasn't looking at him, but he didn't have to be for Jack to see the shine they had taken on. "And you were pretty caught up in the whole Mazari thing, especially after I showed you that picture of O'Neill. And you'd been worn out from takin' care of me, then you were sick … And I sorta think you were at your wits end from all the nightmares and what I noticed was a pretty solid suspicion that you didn't really work at a think tank based on the way you'd taken to worryin' about me. You weren't at your best."

Jack caught the edges of an almost smile then. He squeezed Mac's shoulder with his good hand.

"So, let's be clear. I'm not mad at you for just bein' people, bud. We all do something dumb once in a while … Just most people don't do dumb stuff that almost gets them killed. And maybe they can be all judgey but since I do that sort of thing all the time, I won't be."

Mac glanced up at him then and cleared his throat. "You do realize that this does mean I owe you a Wookie Life Debt, too, for sure."

Jack grinned. "I can get behind that, kid. So … not to beat a dead horse or give you flashbacks to when you were livin' in the cabin, but … what are you gonna do now? Because we both know you're too crappy a liar to be an actor no matter how damned pretty you are, Hollywood."

Mac grinned. "I think I like Carl's Junior better from you, pal." Jack laughed softly, then Mac shrugged. "I don't really know. I still have money from Mom and Gramps, so I don't have to rush right out and … I can think about it a little. And I think maybe I need to do that. Think. Not brood!" he hurried to assure Jack who had raised on eyebrow. "I won't be that guy again."

Jack nodded. "Me 'n Boze wouldn't letcha anyway. I …" This time Jack was the one to trail off. Mac frowned at him. "If you'd wanted to come work at DXS as an agent, not as a lab geek, I would have supported that, kid … But I gotta be honest with you, when I was watching your back over there … I always kinda pictured you comin' home, gettin some nerdy job, and maybe findin' a nerdy wife and havin' some nerdy babies … I never once pictured you in the kind of life I live."

Mac grinned then, more of the tension leaving him. He was astounded that Jack didn't really hold any anger against him after what happened. Seemed like maybe Jack had gotten all his anger for anyone named Angus MacGyver right out of his system the first hitch they'd worked together, and now all he had was … Mac just swallowed hard. Jack called him brother all the time. He knew he meant it.

"I've always wanted a family, too." Then, because he was terrible at actually talking about his feelings, and didn't think he'd ever openly talk about them with the ease or honesty Jack always managed, he made brief eye contact. "You and Boze are a good start, I guess."

Jack looked at him seriously. "No matter where you work, kid, no matter where you wind up, Wookie Life Debt, alright? I will always have your six."

Mac felt himself wanting to tear up again. He wasn't having it. "I'm sure you will, big guy," he joked to break the moment. He got up to grab a beer. He didn't care that it wasn't even lunch time yet. He'd quit his job and had no idea what the hell he was going to do next. That warranted a beer. "As soon as you can walk to the fridge without my help."

Jack knew what he was doing, but let it slide. Mac didn't like revealing his emotions, especially when they were running high. So he gave Mac a sideways smile that said he was about to call shenanigans. "Since I can't … you wanna grab me one of those?"

Mac's eyebrows climbed. "I thought the doc said no booze and you didn't want Thornton pissed at you." But he grabbed the beer anyway and went back over and handed it to Jack.

Jack popped the top with his keychain and winked at Mac. "Ah, hell, kid, she'll live."


	26. Chapter 26

When Mac returned home with an armload full of groceries, he could tell Boze had gotten called in to the restaurant by the ancient Waylon Jennings blasting out of the speakers out on the porch. He could further tell that Jack had come over for his recommended daily swim by the splashing he could just barely hear over the music.

Mac put down the grocery bags and pulled the laptop controlling the music over to him and made a not so subtle switch at the end of the current song. Hey, he had to let Jack know he was home somehow, right?

He started putting things away, grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of Jack's reaction. He'd just gotten a six pack out of the bag when the song ended and whatever Taylor Swift song Bozer had been listening to blared to life out on the deck.

Jack stood dripping in the doorway less than a minute later which Mac took to be a good sign relative to his mobility. In the couple of months since Mac had rejected DXSs job offer, he'd spent a lot of time helping Jack with rehabbing his back and shoulder. He was finally starting to move with the easy almost swagger Mac had first encountered in Afghanistan.

"What the blue hell is that noise?" he gripped, striding in and popping open a beer, heedless of the puddles he was leaving in his wake.

Mac couldn't help laughing. Jack looked so legitimately indignant. "Something Boze listens to just about every morning."

"Do you listen to this crap?"

"Sometimes," Mac shrugged, stashing the rest of the beer in the fridge with the other groceries. "She's cute."

"Yeah, but, Mac … the music, brother. The music."

Mac laughed again and switched the playlist over to one they could agree on, a mix of old school punk, rock, and Johnny Cash. Then he lowered the volume to actual conversational levels. "How's the …" Mac gestured vaguely in Jack's general direction.

Jack grinned. "Saw the ortho-Whoeverthehell today and he said a buncha Mac type words … anyhow, Doc Anderson translated for me and looks like I don't need another surgery. Everything looks real good."

Mac beamed, suddenly feeling the knots of residual guilt over his friend's injury loosen. "That's fantastic, Jack!"

Jack craned his neck trying to look at his back. "Is it still gross?" he asked, turning so Mac could see.

Mac made a face. "I'm not gonna lie. That's a hell of a scar, pal. But it's not gross." He smirked. "You could always get a tattoo over it."

Jack spun and punched him solidly on the arm. Twice. "I am not gettin' a tramp stamp, you little shit."

Mac rubbed his bicep and glared at Jack. Then he cracked up. "You sure? Cuz a little butterfly or maybe a dolphin …"

"That's it, kid. You are goin' in that pool."

At that Jack lunged toward where Mac had started to put the kitchen island between them.

"Purple's really your color!" Mac called as he easily outran Jack.

Jack didn't think Mac had much of a head start but the kid vanished. Jack also definitely wasn't back in running shape anyway, nor should he pick up a hundred sixty pound guy and throw him anywhere, even the pool right outside. But, a little more PT and the doc thought he'd be almost as good as new.

Jack nearly jumped out of his skin when a towel was draped over his shoulders from behind. He turned and Mac was just standing there grinning at him. "Where the hell did you come from?" He demanded, wrapping the towel around himself.

"I went out to start the grill while I was avoiding being thrown into the pool by a guy that particular stunt would probably put in the hospital," he said innocently.

"How? You got some kinda Bruce Wayne Bat cave escape route I oughtta know about?" Jack said, looking around.

Mac looked very serious for a minute. "I know I told you I went to Mission City High, pal, but I lied." Jack gave him a funny look. "I actually went to Hogwarts."

Mac gave him a very big grin and stepped around him and opened the fridge. "I figured Boze wouldn't be home based on all the overtime he's been doing lately. You want burgers or dogs for dinner, man? Cause those are the limit of my culinary skills."

Jack was toweling off his hair and answered with a muffled, "Somethin' wrong with both?"

Mac chuckled. "Not if you're hungry, pal. Go get dressed. I'll get dinner on."

When Jack came back out of the spare room, which was actually more of a workshop with a futon in it that Mac would heave projects off of onto the floor if Jack needed a place to crash for more than the night or two their hard old sofa would keep a guest, Mac was listening to something very cheerful on the speakers, and humming along while he finished making dinner.

"What's got you so chipper?" Jack asked with a grin as they loaded up their plates to take out to the back deck.

Mac shrugged. "I don't know, man. You're really feeling better … Boze seems to like this job at the burger joint a lot and has a girl he seems to actual know how to talk to so he's happy … I mean, Boze and girlfriends … he gets a little intense … but so far this one doesn't seem to mind. My part-time gig is a lot of fun …"

"You like restoring cars with that old cuss?" Jack asked.

Mac nodded. "I really do. Don is a nice old man and he has like a million odds and ends there in the garage that he lets me dig through. It's fun."

He'd introduced Mac to an old friend of Jack Senior's who did general maintenance, engine repair, and a little restoration on the side, when Mac had been stymied by a problem with his the classic motorcycle he'd inherited from his grandfather. They'd hit it off talking about classic cars and the benefits of equipment you didn't need the computer banks at NASA to work in. He'd offered Mac some side work. Mac had been doing that for fifteen or twenty hours a week, increasing the time as his leg healed up.

They settled into the Adirondack chairs and started wolfing down what they'd jammed onto their plates; two hot dogs and a burger each, chips, and pickles. Mac was halfway through his burger, sort of full-mouth answering Jack's questions about the job at Ainsely's Auto Repair when he reached down beside the chair and swore. "We forgot the beer," he observed.

He put his plate down and jogged into the house, bounding back out about two minutes later with four of them. He grinned at Jack. "One with dinner, one for dessert."

Jack took one and opened it. He tipped it in Mac's general direction. "Watchin' you run around here this afternoon … Leg finally really feels better, huh?"

Mac, chewing an obscene hunk of burger, just nodded. Then once he swallowed it with a swig of beer, he elaborated. "Yeah, it's good. I think I can start running again, maybe getting back to working out a little more seriously again. I wouldn't have figured I'd miss the weights and stuff, but I do."

"Look man, I know I've been kind of a pain in the ass about it, and I know you won't go in to X-Com and let Anderson look at it, but … Have you thought about hitting up Don for some health insurance or … I dunno … going to the clinic at the hospital that patched up up to begin with? Just to, ya know, maybe get a professional opinion on it? Before you … I don't know … decide to try to qualify for the Boston Marathon or something."

Mac smiled at the return of Overwatch tone. "Nah, I'm all set." He laughed at the look Jack gave him. "I don't mean that a professional opinion wouldn't be good. I got one. I was talking to Miles the other night on the phone. Just letting him know how things were. We hadn't talked in a while and he left a couple messages … I'd hate for him to sic another sniper on me," Mac teased. "Anyway a friend of his just moved here and he's a doctor … well sort of …"

"Sort of a doctor?" Jack asked with what he felt was appropriate skepticism.

Mac laughed. "Well, I mean Elliot's a doctor … just usually his patients are already beyond his help." He laughed harder at Jack's expression. "He's a medical examiner, Jack."

"Dude! That's gotta be bad juju or somethin'!"

"Be that as it may, he's willing to help out a friend of a friend in exchange for some consulting on some equipment of his. And I actually like the guy alright."

Jack smiled slightly. Leave it to Mac to improvise himself a doctor. "That's good, Mac."

He tried to keep the sort of approving tone both Mac and Boze would occasionally call him out for that made him sound like somebody's wise old grandpa, but he was only partially successful. When he'd first seen Mac up outside that cabin all those months ago, he thought the kid had utterly forgotten how to take care of himself. Well, not so much forgotten as that he didn't seem to think he was worth taking care of.

Now here he was making decisions based on what he thought would make him happy, taking time for himself, eating like a normal person, actually seeking medical care instead of just compartmentalizing pain. Jack knew he'd more or less adopted Mac as his little brother by the time they'd known each other three months … and there was their whole Wookie Life Debt to consider too. So nothing was probably going to convince Jack that Mac didn't need a certain amount of protecting, even if it was only from himself. But, Jack felt better about the kid's future than he had since they met.

"So, hey, um, when's your doc think you can get back to your usual routine? Since things are healing well?" Mac asked in what Jack found to be an almost overly casual voice.

Jack's Head tilted back a little and he eyed Mac with a speculative look. "Oh, it'll be another couple of months before I'm really back at it I guess." He watched Mac's face almost fall before the blond carefully schooled his features. The disappointment still showed in his eyes though. Kid couldn't ever quite keep his feelings out of his eyes. "But I'm ready to start the light stuff on my own away from the PT."

Mac grinned. "That's awesome, man. I'm glad your really finally healing up and feeling better!"

The comment was genuine, and Jack knew Mac had kind of been torturing himself over the warehouse incident and the fact that Jack had been hurt, but there was something else, too. Mac was grinning too much for it to be only that. "Me, too, kid."

When Jack didn't say more, Mac fidgeted just a little. "So, do you, uh, still want a gym buddy?" Jack raised an eyebrow and Mac hurried to add, "Thornton called a couple days ago and wanted me to come in and review and sign the final statement and report of … you know, the whole thing … before it goes to her boss."

"And you went?" Jack asked, surprised.

Mac shrugged. "I mean, yeah. After work today. I've looked around the web and I can't find even rumors of DXS. I'm not pissing off the lady who runs operations for anybody that powerful. Besides, I'm not mad about anything. I just don't want to do a job that requires violence. I already figured out I didn't like that in the Army, man."

"How'd that go?" Jack asked, just taking another sip of beer like he wasn't planning on chewing Thornton a new one for calling the kid in. He didn't need to review anything. He was a civilian and he gave his statement. That was enough.

"Good. Fine. I mean, I'm sort of glad that I went." He shrugged again. "I mean, Harkins and I have still been hanging out after work some. And she wanted me to know I was still welcome at X-com, that people have friends in and out for lunch and stuff like that all the time. She mentioned it was actually stranger if I always refused the invitation than if I came in once in a while … I know Jay doesn't know the real deal and he loves being a tech there. I don't want to blow that for him."

Jack's jaw muscles flexed momentarily, but Mac didn't notice. "Well, that's real neighborly of her," he said, mostly without the irritation he was feeling.

"Yeah. And she said I'd still be welcome to come with you to the gym like I had been before … once you were up to it."

There was something a little different about the tone there. "I thought you were putting a gym in your garage once your leg really felt better."

Another shrug. Jack shook his head a little bit. Now they were skirting whatever was up. Mac took a sip of his beer. "I was just thinking it would be nice to get back at it before I lose all the progress I made, you know? Feels good to be back in decent shape. And I haven't exactly just sat on my ass the last couple months, but …" He flushed a little bit. "I like how I look when I'm really working out … And I like how people respond, I guess."

There is was. "People? Or person?"

Mac truly blushed this time. "Okay, so maybe kind of … person." Then he grinned. "You remember that blonde you said was making eyes at me in the gym that time …"

"Nancy?"

"Nikki," Mac corrected. "Nikki Carpenter." Both Jack's eyebrows went up in a sort of amused way so Mac went on. "Thornton stepped out of her office to deal with something from her boss while I was reading things over … And Nikki came in to drop off some folder full of whatever and … she introduced herself, asked me why she hadn't seen me around in a while …"

There was absolutely no mistaking how pleased and slightly smug Mac was about revealing that particular fact. "And you are just slightly interested in opportunities to run into her."

Mac grinned. "Yeah, I mean, who wouldn't be? First of all she's gorgeous. And today we were just chatting for a couple of minutes while I was waiting for Thornton to come back. She went to MIT, too, only she, um, graduated and …"

"When?" Jack asked, curious. He knew she must be older than Mac because he knew from Ross that she'd worked there for a few years. Ross didn't like her, thought she spent too much time kissing the bosses' asses. It made Jack a little wary of her on Mac's behalf.

"A few years ago," Mac said without much interest in Nikki's age, only that she'd wanted to talk with him and that she was bright, beautiful, and interested.

He didn't have a lot in the way of confidence with women. He'd thought about that a little after flirting with the nurse in the infirmary got him his way more than once. Like maybe he should have at least a little more confidence. That was all that kept him from going completely dry mouthed when Nikki struck up a conversation.

"And she's been offered jobs by just about everybody, because she's a legitimate computer genius. But she felt like she could help the most people … well, she said at X-Com, but I kind of got the vibe that she knows who she really works for."

Jack nodded. He knew she did. She'd been the analyst in the field for a couple of missions with Jack's friend Ross. Of course he didn't say so, but it was tempting. He didn't think it was a great idea for Mac, who was now totally a civilian, but who had nearly been pulled into the life before rejecting it, to hook up with a woman who was up to her eyeballs in it. But that wasn't really up to him.

"She sounds real interesting, kid."

"Yeah, she is."

Jack liked Mac's expression at the moment. He looked … hopeful. Not just about a pretty girl, Jack realized, but in general. He thought maybe that's the first time he'd ever seen Mac look that way. Nasty bunch of injuries for both of them aside, he supposed he had to be grateful for Mac's experience at DXS if this was what came from it.

He also realized Mac hadn't brought up the incident at the warehouse, other than how they were recovering from it, in weeks. And he looked well rested; neither Mac openly, nor Boze behind his back, reported the terrible sorts of nightmares that had troubled him for a while. He gave the kid a grin. "I might be convinced to hit the gym Monday. They don't have a pool so I'm gonna keep hitting you up for yours, but there's some stuff I should probably try, so I can at least tell the doc if I'm not there yet. I'll getcha a guest pass again."

Mac beamed. "Thanks Jack!" Then he stuffed the last of his overloaded hotdog into his mouth, and got up while still chewing it. "You want some more?" he asked around the bite.

"I'm good, kid, but you go for it."

Yeah, Jack thought, maybe things were looking up.


	27. Chapter 27

Mac's feet pounded over the dusty trail, kicking up a cloud as he dug into his last push to reach the top. It had been a while since he'd been able to run this hard or this long, say nothing about actually taking his workout into the Hills like he had today.

His lungs were burning and he was absolutely drenched in sweat. His leg was starting to protest the hard workout, too, but he had to make it to the top. It had been a few months since the incident at the warehouse and he'd babied the leg a little, due more to urging to "be careful" from Boze and Jack than actually being told he needed to.

Elliot was the one who shook him out of that funk. Mac had pushed harder than he had tried yet in the gym about a week ago (admittedly because Nikki was there and he was maybe showing off a little) and his leg had squawked about it. Jack had gone full Sargeant Dad and insisted he get it looked at again.

Mac rolled his eyes, but he'd given Elliot a call. It would make Jack feel better, and honestly, Mac did want to take care of it properly. He was an athletic guy and he'd hate for poor judgement now to screw up his ability to be active when he was Jack's age.

Elliot said if it weren't for the fact that his pasty pale legs that clearly never saw the light of day showed the scar so readily, he'd never know Mac had been wounded a few months ago. Mac had laughed. His legs weren't that pale.

The scar was still a deep, angry, shiny red. But it didn't often hurt anymore, he said. Elliot nodded. "I imagine most of why it hurt in the gym is you've been taking it too easy. It's healed up. You want to be in the shape you were in before your injury, you're going to have to cowboy up and power through a little. It was just a graze, Mac."

Mac laughed again and said he'd feel sorry for Elliot's other patients if they weren't already dead.

But it had gotten him back out on the trail.

He wondered how Jack was fairing. The DXS doctor told Jack he'd been pushing too hard, too fast, but Thornton had disagreed, calling Jack in on Wednesday for actual field work. Knowing what the back specialist had told Jack about the expected length of his recovery, he'd had the strong urge to go tell Thornton off on Jack's behalf. But Jack had assured him it wasn't for a physically demanding mission. Surveillance, he'd said. Which Mac took to mean she needed a sniper.

He supposed his worry about Jack was some of what sent him out on a real punishing run. Boredom was also a factor. Mac's part time boss had been on vacation, so there was no work for him until Thursday either. He crested the top of the hill with a feeling of triumph he'd almost forgotten.

Damn it felt good to conquer something. He stood savoring the feeling, and the view, for a few minutes. As the rush of endorphins started to level off, Mac got a weird feeling. Like he wasn't alone. He knew he was. It was too hot for most sensible people up here and he'd passed a bunch of runners and hikers giving up.

Still he turned around, looking for signs that someone else had made the top. _Huh._ Nothing. He shook his head. Maybe he should think about a second job that was a little more social. Even the garage was a lot of time alone. Jack and Boze both said it was going to make him crazy.

He stretched out a little. Downed a hydration packet, and started the descent at a light jog. Heading home would be more of a cool down than a workout. By the time he got back to his Jeep, he'd managed to shake the feeling he'd had up top.

He glanced at his watch. If he headed over to X-Com, he could make the Krav Maga class and maybe run into Nikki. He'd shower at the gym, nose around and see if there was any word on Jack, and maybe see if Barry and Jay wanted to grab a beer after work.

He towelled some of the sweat off and pulled off his soaked t shirt in favor of a dry one from his bag in the back. Then he grabbed a water bottle out of his cooler and climbed behind the wheel to head to the X-Com facility.

If he'd had the training Thornton had wanted to give him, he'd have noticed the late model van weaving in and out of traffic several car lengths behind him. But all he had was the returning sense of vague unease. He hoped a hard workout and the opportunity to throw some people to the mat, along with some low key socializing, would dispel it.

0-0-0

Mac was sort of disappointed that Nikki wasn't around, but Jay decided to join him at Krav Maga and both Jay and Barry thought after work beer was a great idea. Jack was apparently expected at the office just about any minute after a reportedly smooth mission. Mac forgot all about his strange sense of being watched.

He was just coming out of the locker room, freshly showered and ready to go meet the guys to head out for dinner and a drink, when he ran into Jack. "Hey, man!" Mac greeted with a grin. "How's it feel to be back off desk duty?"

Jack grinned in return. "Pretty damn good, kid. What're you doin' here?"

"Ah, I just came to work out. You know, Krav Maga sounded like a good idea."

Jack's expression shifted into a knowing smile. "Lookin' for a particular sparring partner, were ya?"

Mac blushed and ducked his head for a second. "Maybe. She wasn't around though."

Jack chuckled. "That's cuz she was out in the field with yours truly. She's alright, really knows her stuff."

"Is that your way of telling me you approve, old man."

Jack shook his head. He knew Mac sensed his reserve about this current crush. "I disapprove slightly less," he allowed with a smirk. "She practically coulda babysat you."

"She's only like four or five years older than me," Mac scoffed. "Is she back, too?" he asked, sounding a little over eager. In response to Jack's eyebrow raise, he went on. "I'm heading out for dinner and drinks with a couple of the guys from the lab. I was gonna ask you if you wanted to come if you were around. And, they were gonna ask a couple other techs … Since it's a whole group of us going I figured she might …"

"Low risk, high reward. I gotcha, kid. She's back. But she's meeting with Thornton. Could be a while."

"I could text her and see."

"So, you've gotten as far as phone numbers," Jack observed with amusement.

Mac blushed, but just shrugged as he got out his phone.

When Jack came back from the very necessary and welcome shower, shave, and fresh clothes he'd headed to the locker room for, Mac was leaning against the wall in the lobby with his hands in his pockets. Jack didn't know what to make of his expression, but it didn't look exactly happy. "Hey, Mac, what's up?" he asked, striding up to him.

Mac half smiled at Jack when he saw the pace he'd set coming across the room. Jack was finally moving like his old self again. Maybe Thornton hadn't called him back to duty too early. "Hey, um, I know I said beer, but … I think I'm gonna flake and head home."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "The lovely Ms. Carpenter unavailable this evening?"

"Huh? Oh, Nikki, um, no … she's available … just … Thornton called me, said she knew I was in the building wanted to see me about ' _the incident_ '."

Jack's forehead immediately creased into a line that Mac recognized as the symbol of his protective streak. "You don't work here anymore, Mac. You don't have to blow off plans just because she calls you."

Mac smiled slightly with a tilt to his chin that said he was a little proud of himself even if part of him didn't feel he should be. "That's what I told her actually."

Jack patted him on the shoulder. Mac could be the strangest combination of defferential to authority figures and insubordinate to anybody up to and including God Himself that Jack had ever met. "Good for you, kid."

Mac shook his head. "Then she said, ' _Fine_ ,' you know in that tone she has ... and just told me over the phone that based on the information I provided and the evidence from the warehouse and vans, they think they tracked down O'Neill or whatever his real name is, and there's a joint organizational strike team taking out their facility like right now. She said she thought I'd want to know and then she hung up."

"That's good," Jack said, but he thought he knew what the kid was thinking. "They're the bad guys, Mac. They asked for whatever is happening right now. You know that, right, kid?"

Mac nodded. "Yeah, I mean, I do, but …"

"But part of your brain only remembers that you guys once wore the same uniform, and that you spent the last few years feeling responsible for either his death or him being a prisoner of war because people didn't listen to you, maybe."

Mac shrugged again. "Yeah and … when you say whatever's happening … I know what that means, what that looks like … And I don't like being responsible for a bunch of guys with guns, even if they're the good guys, doing that, and I don't like that there are good guys on the line tonight. So anyway, not feeling beer and making conversation."

"What're you still doin' here then, kid? You've got that 'if I don't get some peace and quiet I'm gonna take something important of somebody else's apart' look aboutcha."

Mac grinned sheepishly. "I texted everybody else, but I figured if I just texted you and bailed and then you found out what Thornton told me, you'd come looking for me anyway. Hanging around to tell you in person saves us both time."

Jack chuckled. "I always said you were the brains of the outfit, kid."

"Anyway, I'm gonna take off."

Mac turned without waiting for an answer and started for the stairs that would take him down to the parking garage level. "Is Boze home?" Jack asked, catching up with him as he opened the door to the stairwell.

Mac glanced back at him, unsurprised that Jack was following. "Um … he was working tonight … But he'll be around later, after the place closes."

"How much later?"

Mac forced a laugh as they stepped into the parking garage. "Like usual later."

"So like two or three tomorrow morning."

"Probably. They've been really busy and I think when Boze says he's the best cook, it's not just Boze talking like he does sometimes … He gets called in a lot."

"Alright then, I'm gonna come keep you company. And I'll see if I can get Thornton to cough up details so you at least know when it's all over with, kid."

Mac got out his keys. "Okay, man. I won't say no to the company, but I'm stopped on my way home to pick up some pizza … and if it's just going to be us hanging around, maybe some beer, too. I could use the tension breaker."

"Oh no ya don't, ya silly hamburger kid. You keep running your hands through your hair and your eyes are all over the place, so not only do you look like you just rolled outta bed, but you're imitating a squirrel pretty well at the moment. Jack's drivin'."

Mac laughed. "I need my car tomorrow, Jack. I'm working at Ainsely's in the afternoon." He shook his head. "Also, don't start talking about yourself in the third person again. Seriously."

Jack took out his own keys and jangled them. "I'll bring you over to pick it up tomorrow, kid. I'm off because we just got back, and either I'll crash on your godawful couch anyway, or I'll pick up in the morning and we'll go bug Patty to cough up how things went."

Mac's eyes widened and he cleared his throat. "Um, did you hurt your back again or something while you were gone?"

"No, why?"

"So, you're not offering to drive me home while you're full of pain killers?"

"No," Jack repeated. "Why?"

Mac slipped his keys into his coat pocket and climbed into the passenger seat of Jack's car. "Because you just called your boss Patty."

Jack grinned as he climbed in. "Yeah, well I been tryin' it out to see if she says anything."

"You really think poking that particular bear is a good idea, Jack?"

"I dunno kid, but seen' how many times I can get away with it before she calls me out is kinda fun."

"Like when you used to insert 'meow' into random sentences with Captain Michaels all the time."

Jack started the car and started maneuvering it out of the parking spot. "Kinda, yeah," he laughed, pleased that his attempt to make sure Mac didn't get in his own head too much over Patty's phone call already seemed to be working.

"What's the highest you ever got?" Mac asked, grinning now and picturing Jack's face on the occasion Michaels had finally caught him in the act.

"Forty-two in one day," Jack answered proudly, pulling out of the parking garage with the light.

"Was it worth all those push-ups, Jack? Be honest."

"It'd been worth twice as many, kid," Jack replied.

They laughed and then Jack brought up the story of yet another occasion when Mac just couldn't keep his science to himself and got in trouble for that. It seemed Jack sought it out and Mac couldn't keep out of it even if he tried. They took the turn to head to Mac's place, still laughing and telling competing stories of how much worse the other was about getting themselves into hot water.

Jack was happy to see Mac coping with his stress over the Thornton call in a reasonable way. Mac was glad to have the company and found he actually enjoyed the slightly competitive storytelling, even if he would admit to himself that if he'd hung around in the ranks as long as Jack eventually his mouth probably would have gotten him in a lot more trouble than Jack's innocent game playing ever had.

Neither of them saw the van parked across from the X-Com parking garage.

Fortunately for them, they were looking for an orange Jeep that currently had a very bright green surfboard strapped to the top.

So the occupants of the van didn't notice them either.


	28. Chapter 28

"Mac. Yo, Mac, c'mon, bud," Jack tried for the second time to get Mac moving.

Once again, all Mac managed was, "Mmmm."

Jack shook Mac by the shoulder firmly. "Kid, I got called into work early. If you want a ride in to grab your Jeep, I'm on the road in five."

Mac rolled over and pulled the blanket sort of over his head, but also kind of wadded it up under his arm, looking, to Jack's amusement, much younger than his twenty-three years. "Mmmm. Later … I'll call … cab."

Jack frowned. Mac was kind of an up at the sun guy, and they'd crashed kind of early. It had been such a rough couple of months. He wasn't all that big a worry wart (despite many testimonials to the contrary from people he'd served with), but Mac had a particularly tough go lately.

"You okay kid?"

"Mmmm. Stayed up too late. Played Madden. Beat the Cowboys … Super Bowl," he smiled sleepily but didn't open his eyes.

"Little shit," Jack chuckled. "Like the Chargers are ever gonna beat my boys."

"Maybe I'll beat 'em again. It was easy," he teased sleepily, turning his face back into his pillow. "Don't have to work," he said, gesturing at his phone, so Jack assumed Don had texted Mac.

"Keep it up, kid, and I'll dump you in your pool, I swear. That oughta wake you up and teach you to have some manners about the greatest team to ever grace the gridiron," Jack teased back.

Mac mumbled something, but was mostly back asleep.

Jack made sure the blankets he'd used to crash on the couch were neatly folded, then he headed out to DXS. Staying up too late playing Xbox was just so normal. Jack thought maybe the kid was really settling in to his life.

When Patty first suggested Mac might be a good fit for DXS, he thought she'd meant Applied Sciences. Since the events of the warehouse and how eager she'd been to bring him into the fold, he thought maybe that had been the goal all along. Seeing Mac just being a regular twenty-something made Jack think maybe his young friend was better off saving classic cars than trying to save the world.

0-0-0

When Mac finally rolled out of bed he was stiff from having been idle for so long. He didn't even pause long enough to really eat breakfast … lunch … whatever. He pulled on his running gear, downed a cup of room temperature coffee out of Jack's morning pot, that was, as usual, barely touched, chugged a water, and headed out the door for a run to shake the cobwebs out, grateful Don had called him off last night and he could just relax a little today.

It was rare that he spared himself the luxury of a real "day off", even now that his job was much lower pressure. Mac realized he could maybe get a little intense about things. Jack and Boze had been going out of their way to get him to back up, slow down, smell the roses, or whatever old man terms either of his parentally inclined best friends tried to couch it in.

He thought they'd both approve of his approach to today. He looped around the neighborhood on his way home and bought a bagel with an obscene amount of cream cheese on it, along with a properly hot coffee to make up for the tepid one he'd had before his run.

He'd finished both by the time he got back to his house. On his way to the shower he grabbed his phone off the charging station so he could listen to music while he let the hot water diminish the last of his video game and sleeping in induced stiffness. Immediately he noticed a text from Jack. He expected it to be Jack checking up on him. But it wasn't.

 _Stay away from X-Com today_

 _Huh. Weird_.

Mac smirked and texted back. _Still pissed that I thrashed Dallas?_

He turned on Spotify, cranked the volume on his phone, and took a much longer shower than he usually allowed himself; water conservation be damned.

After he got dressed and was contemplating going back out for another bagel it occurred to him to check his phone to see if Jack responded to his ribbing.

There were several texts.

 _Forget what I said earlier._

 _You should come in._

 _At least come have lunch._

Jack's texting game was getting weirder and weirder, Mac thought. Instead of texting back, this time Mac thumbed the call icon. It rang repeatedly and Mac was getting ready to leave a voicemail when Jack finally answered.

"Hey, kid."

Mac frowned. Jack's voice sounded oddly cool.

"Hey. What's up? I just saw all your texts - stay away nevermind come visit. Figured I'd call so I could tell you to make up your damn mind," he said lightly.

"Crazy day," Jack said stiffly.

Mac's frown deepened. "Why am I on speaker, Jack?"

"Oh, I'm a little tied up at the moment, kid."

Mac had known Jack to get in some strange moods from time to time, but this was a little beyond his usual. Something was up. "Then I guess I'll make up your mind for you. I wanna go surfing this afternoon so I'm gonna get an Über and come get the Jeep."

"No!" Jack said sharply and then Mac heard a distinct hiss, definitely a pained sort of sound.

"So you don't want to grab lunch then?" he asked carefully.

There was a long pause, so long Mac actually pulled his phone away to check if he'd dropped the call. Then he heard another muffled gasping sound. "Nah, kid, you're better off where you are," Jack bit out, then groaned more audibly this time.

"What's going on, Jack?" Mac asked, thinking not for the first time that Jack might be right about spidey senses because all of his were tingling.

There was more silence, followed by what sounded like muffled scuffling. Then Mac very distinctly heard Jack growl, "Go to hell."

Mac felt cold all over by then. "Jack. Jack!"

The voice that came out of the phone next wasn't Jack's, but it was familiar. "Hey there, Hollywood. Jack's busy at the moment. But I'm absolutely sure he'd love to see you here. I know I would."

"Let him go, O'Neill," Mac ordered, sounding much more level than he felt.

"You and I both know that's not gonna happen. I owe you both for screwing up my operation. And I showed up here ready to pay you in full."

Mac was pretty grateful they hadn't just shown up at his house. He wondered why but decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth. "What is it you want from me?"

"For starters? To get your ass down here to whatever this place you work really is, cuz I've disarmed too many guys with guns to buy what it says on the sign outside."

"Then what?" he asked, mouth dry.

"We'll see. Might have use for you. But if you don't come we'll never know. And your buddy here will pay the price all by his lonesome."

A strangled cry in the background made Mac's whole body tense. "I'm on my way."

He ended the call, not sure if he should have let O'Neill be the one to feo it or not. Negotiating with Terrorists 101 wasn't exactly part of MITs curriculum.

As far as what he actually needed to do to have a chance at getting anyone out of this alive? He was pretty sure of his next steps.

He used an app to summon a ride since his bike currently lacked an engine because he was rebuilding it. Then he got his phone back out and dialed.

"Hey, man, sorry to bother you. But I need a favor."


	29. Chapter 29

Mac made his way down the dark, dank passage, hazarding a small flashlight from his earthquake preparedness bag that Jack and Bose both teased him about. Okay, so maybe he'd never actually needed it because of plate tectonics but right now it sure as hell felt like the ground was crumbling away under his feet.

O'Neill had Jack, ostensibly had DXS, and least in part. And the man had a massive ax to grind with Mac and his friend, say nothing about the place O'Neill assumed he worked. At first Mac wondered why the man might have made that assumption. He'd quit ages ago.

Then he realized that since it was unlikely O'Neill had been watching him the whole time, it would have been easy to assume he worked at X-Com. He was there all the time, hung out with Jack, with his friends from the lab. A few times with Nikki.

And following him was no guarantee they'd have found his home. The house was still in Harry's name. His car was still registered in Humboldt County to the cabin's address. And he frequently rode with Jack, crashed at Jack's place. Besides, they were out for everyone who took down their LA operation, not just some skinny blond bomb nerd O'Neill no doubt remembered as much less physically and emotionally capable than he was now.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the number, then answered, "Gimme good news, Eggs."

A moment of silence. "Okay … I've got eyes inside."

"And that's not just good news?" Mac asked, nearly slipping in the brackish water of the drainage pipe that ran near DXS's parking garage. It was slick with algae. He hoped it was algae anyway.

"I wasn't able to get anybody through official channels."

"So who'd you get?"

"Vis is on it. She says if you don't get your dumb ass killed you owe her Penny Parker's phone number."

Mac had to snicker. "Tell your sister to quit hitting on my exes, wouldja?" He turned a corner and thought he could see the ladder that led up to the sub basement near the explosives lab. He cringed a little as he felt the water slosh into his boots. "She got anything useful?"

"Whole place is more or less on lock down. But she's only made about twenty bad guys. Problem with getting official help is none of the distress signals have gone up, so to speak. From the outside, without Vis hacking the system, all's quiet."

"Jack?" Mac asked, now at the bottom of the access ladder.

"One of the interrogation rooms," Miles answered flatly.

"And?" Mac prompted, restraining himself from getting legitimately sharp with his friend.

"He's being Jack. Giving people as much shit as he can when they're in with him and catching naps when they're not. He's a pro, Mac," Miles said gently. "He's in the fifth room on the left side of the eastern hallway."

Mac nodded. "Okay. I guess I'm going in. I'll try to set off some alarms or something so you can maybe get us some official help to get everybody out. I'm gonna try to get to Jack first though."

"I should maybe mention … I called Elliot, too."

Mac frowned. "I'm seriously hoping we aren't gonna need a coroner here, Eggs."

"Yeah, well … if his MD was all Elliot had going for him, I'd save calling him in for when my dumbass buddy loses his health insurance after he gets shot. But it's not. Our Dr. Mathers is a man of many talents. I'm pretty sure he can help."

Mac shrugged like Miles was there to see it. "Well if he shows up and manages to get in here, I'll hope so I guess. Text if Vis gets eyes on anything else I need to know. I'm going in."

Without waiting for Miles reply, Mac ended the call and started up the ladder bolted to the wall, cursing his slippery boots. The manhole cover was heavier than he expected it to be. Well, not exactly. He knew exactly how many grams it weighed (or at least had a pretty good idea). He just hadn't thought it would feel so heavy, or scrape across the ground so loudly.

Fortunately, the sub basement was dark and empty. He took the flashlight from between his teeth and shined in around, trying to orient himself and decide what to do next.

"You're probably going to want to use the duct work," a familiar voice observed from the shadows off to his right.

Mac jumped and spun toward the voice. "Dammit Elliot! You just about gave me a heart attack."

Elliot smirked. "If spies weren't sneaky, no one would call us spooks."

Well, that explained a few things. Mac sighed quietly. "So, duct work?"

Elliot nodded. "There's not a lot of men in O'Neill's crew. But they're good. Sweeping the whole building in patterns with crossover, about ten minutes from start to finish. Really difficult to move without being seen. And I have plenty of training, not to mention a fair amount of natural talent, that helps me do that. You, on the other hand, are a lab tech with big feet."

Mac glared at Elliot but it didn't have much heat. He wasn't exactly the world's most graceful guy and he knew it. "Probably right," he conceded. "I think you're too big to crawl around up there with me though." Elliot was tall and reasonably broad across the shoulders.

"I'm going to get into the control room and sound the alarm as soon as you and Jack are clear. Hopefully this crew will rabbit the minute they know their cover is blown rather than trying to keep the facility hostage."

"You'll get grabbed doing that ... and they are definitely not afraid of taking prisoners," Mac protested.

"No, I won't. This is what I used to do, Mac."

"But you don't do it anymore?"

"I do if the price is right and I like the motives behind the money. Or if I've got a friend in over his head," he grinned tilting his chin in the direction of the repair access ladder in the corner and training his own dim flashlight on it. "Go get Dalton before these assholes get impatient."

Mac nodded and made his way over to the ladder. He was going to have to implement strict no climbing policies in all future endeavors. He looked up. Only about twelve feet. He sighed. Elliot was right. They needed to get a move on.

0-0-0

Jack was of two minds at the moment. On the one hand he hoped Mac had the good sense to just call the cops or something and stay well away from here. On the other he wished Mac was there with his Swiss Army knife or at least a couple paper clips so he could get Jack out of the cuffs currently biting into his wrists.

Jack wasn't much of a lock pick on his best day. He had little patience for close work like that. He saved his fine motor skills for behind a scope. Mac on the other hand, Mac liked that sort of thing. Picking locks, building models, miniaturizing tech. Jack wondered vaguely how often the kid had gotten himself in trouble with the restless need to build and destroy as a little kid. He suspected a fair amount.

He blinked several times. The wandering thoughts were probably a sign that his head butt of the jackass who'd locked him up in here hadn't been as well placed as he thought, because now that he'd noticed, he was pretty damned sure he had a concussion. Yep, the slight nauseas rolling in his midsection, slight halo around things bathed in the overhead light.

Well, he couldn't blame the headbutt entirely. A couple of those guys had knocked him around pretty good. Granted it was because he'd managed to twist free of the hold they had on him. He'd been damned close to sounding the alarm, too.

This crew had been smart and hit early in the day. They'd also gone to the executive level first. Thornton had managed to text him before they'd confiscated her phone. Without a building full of employees, it couldn't have been too difficult to lock down all five floors. Mostly they'd have had to hit security and the overnight skeleton crew in Medical. As far as he could tell, they hadn't killed anybody yet.

Jack had been in the elevator when he'd received Thornton's warning. It had been too late to just get the hell out of the building and get help on the move, but not too late to get off on the main floor and try to get to the building's security control room. He was one hallway away when he got clobbered from behind.

Jack rolled his head around, trying to loosen up his neck. He was stiffening up from the fight and O'Neill's encouragement to cooperate. He'd been cuffed to this chair for a while now and the shallow knife wound next to his left shoulder blade was aching with the steady beat of his heart. It hadn't bled for long, so he knew it wasn't too serious. And it had been worth it to get the word out to Mac. Or, so he hoped.

Boy O'Neill had been pissed he hadn't just played along and gotten Mac to come in. Like threatening him was going to get him to betray that kid. First of all, he was the kid's Overwatch. Not officially, not anymore.

But as Jack teased out the details of Mac's life, he realized he didn't really have anyone else. And he hadn't in a very long time. Even Bozer was more of a little brother, sometimes a project. Bozer had physically stood up for Mac a few times when they were younger, but Mac had done his part to help Bozer out. A lot, if Bozer's veiled references to their past were any indication. He knew Mac's mom had passed, that his father had left at some point. Kid didn't have anybody left to look out for him.

Jack thought darkly that if the kid came over here, with whatever the hell the Mac equivalent of guns ablazin' was (which Jack assumed meant maybe a second swiss army knife or something) he was legitimately going to tan his hide. Unless he brought the goddamned National Guard with him. Then maybe Jack would forgive the kid for letting himself get pulled back into this.

While O'Neill had to know Mac wasn't the reason his LA operation got taken down and his latest terrorist hidey hole raided, he'd clearly focused on Mac as the guy to pay back for it. Of course, it was possible they thought if they took Mac, they could flip him and get one seriously talented genius bomb nerd out of the deal. Wouldn't happen. Jack was positive Mac would die before he'd help those guys. But that didn't mean they weren't crazy enough to try.

Of course knowing Mac like he did, he was more than half sure the kid would show up here, trying to play the hero with no proper training, no real gear, and no backup. The hell of it was, Jack grumbled to himself, that Mac all on his own with just his brains had a better chance of putting an end to this situation than most full tac teams Jack had ever worked with.

Jack frowned. He could hear something. Footsteps? These rooms were pretty well insulated, you couldn't usually hear someone coming down the hall. Couldn't be that. Then there was a funny sort of scraping sound and dust fell onto the metal table in front of Jack. He squinted up at the ceiling in time to see one of the tiles slide aside and the object of his half affectionate half rueful thoughts dropped out of the ceiling and onto the table.

"Mac, what the hell are you doin' here? I tried to warn you off!"

Mac smirked as he jumped down next to Jack and got out his pocket knife to go to work on those cuffs.

"It's good to see you, too, Big Guy."


	30. Chapter 30

Jack's shoulders sagged with momentary relief with he was able to move his arms properly for the first time in hours. Then he tensed again as he started to think through the new set of obstacles between him and getting out of this situation. Namely that he now had to watch out for Mac, too.

Not that Jack had any illusions about having been able to free himself or escape on his own. He was pretty sure he couldn't have done that based on the how and the who of his captivity. But damned if he was going to fail as the kid's Overwatch now, just because Mac had had to come in here and save his ass.

"Not that I don't appreciate you goin' all Luke Skywalker to rescue me, here, kid," Jack drawled. "But didn't you hear me tell ya to stay the hell away?"

Mac grinned. "Course I did. But being the sensible man I am, I ignored you." He tipped his chin up at the ceiling. "Now, let's get out of here."

"Mac, I can't just leave that way."

Mac nodded, thinking he understood where Jack was going with this. "Everybody here will be fine. I called for some outside help. As soon as we're clear the alarm is gonna sound and bring the cavalry down on these guys."

Jack's face scrunched and Mac knew he'd somehow misunderstood. Jack looked up at the opening in the ceiling. "How much room did you have in there, kid?"

"Shit," was all Mac had for an answer. Jack was quite a bit bigger than he was, and naturally broader across the chest and shoulders.

"That about covers it, bud."

Mac had a couple of moments where he felt like a boxer between rounds, puffing breath through swollen cheeks, knowing the beating he was ultimately in for. "We're gonna be okay," he said. "We'll just head to the control room and meet up with Elliot."

"What the hell is your doc doin' at DXS right now?" Jack asked.

"His other job apparently," Mac said, trying the door and finding the electrical lock engaged. Predictably, the Swiss Army knife appeared and he started taking the control panel plate off to see what he could do about it. "I get the impression that Elliot is some kind of spook."

"Huh," Jack said, frowning at Mac's back. "What're you doin', kid?"

"I was gonna try to short circuit the control panel so we can get out of here."

Jack grinned and moved him aside. "Or the guy who works here could just punch in the code."

Mac chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, kinda forgot about that part."

Jack smirked. "You just got a little focused on the whole 'escape' part of this little adventure is all, there Houdini."

Mac grinned sheepishly. That was true, he supposed. It didn't feel like a building he'd been in and out of a hundred times right now. It felt hostile as hell and he wanted to get them both out. He was going to have to slow down and think though if he was so wound up he lost sight of the fact that Jack had the code.

Jack eased the door open a crack and turned to grin at Mac. "Empty hallway. Let's go."

They made it almost to the stairs before O'Neill's men swept the level again. Jack and Mac flattened themselves to the wall, barely breathing, and hoping like hell the guys would head up the west hallway first.

They got lucky and as soon as the men disappeared around the corner, they bolted for the door to the stairs. And if Mac hadn't come in through the drainage tunnels under the building, they probably would have gotten out of the interrogation and holding wing with no further trouble.

Unfortunately, his boots were still wet and when he increased his speed, the bottoms squeaked loudly on the polished tile. He and Jack shared a brief look. Mac's was almost panicked and Jack's was more of a 'what fresh hell is this' but it only lasted for a second because they heard O'Neill's men coming back fast and one of them was rapid firing information in incomprehensible Pashto, probably into a radio.

Their only choice was to run up the stairs.

"Where to?" Mac asked, hoping maybe there was some sort of secret passage or panic room or something they could head to. It's not like a bad guy getting l

"Main level. We'll sound the alarm and hope for the best, man."

A deafening shot rang out from below and a bullet glanced off the metal banister. Even with his ears ringing from the sound, Mac heard Jack swear and start lamenting his lack of ability to return fire at the moment.

They were between levels so they had to keep running up.

Another shot rang out.

This one hit the wall right next to Mac and he knew he gasped, but he still couldn't hear much of anything. They burst out of the next available door a few seconds later. Jack knew exactly where they were, but it was a part of the building Mac had never been in when he'd worked here.

Jack said something to him but Mac shook his head, indicating he couldn't really hear. Jack mouthed, "Armory," slowly and pointed.

Mac nodded. They made their way slowly down the hallway. Thinking under this kind of pressure was hard. Sure he disarmed bombs all the time in the Army, but, in a way, that was just solving a puzzle. It used the part of his brain he was comfortable with. He supposed training would make a difference. Right now he sort of wished he'd taken the job here when Thornton had offered it to him because it would mean he'd have had some training to deal with things like this.

Wishing he'd taken the job was followed by wishing he'd never heard of X-Com or DXS or the US Army, quite frankly, when the guys who'd been on their tails busted into the hallway, angry and with weapons drawn.

Mac again narrowly missed getting shot as he took off in the opposite direction of the terrorists. He didn't know this part of the building at all, but he ran the way Jack shoved him down a side hallway. It felt like all twenty of the guys Vis had gotten on the cameras were now on this floor and all chasing them.

One second Jack was right behind him, and the next he was alone in a dim hallway. _Shit._

O'Neill's men were getting close. His ears were still ringing something awful but he could hear their shouts to each other as they cleared rooms, He ducked into the nearest room. There were too many damned windows into the hallway here. It looked like a conference room or something. He crouched down below the level of the windows, hoping to catch his breath and clear his head.

After a minute he almost slapped his forehead with the obviousness if the thought that occurred to him. He had no idea if Elliot would know things had gone south and sound the alarm or even if Elliot had evaded O'Neill's men. Vis might still have the cameras but she might not. The encryption programming was cyclic so her access could be in and out. But … Mac still had his cell.

He got out his phone and texted Miles and Elliot what was happening, asked them to get the alarm going. Miles texted back that he was on it. Mac was trying to decide if he should text Jay or maybe Nikki to see if they were here and if so where O'Neill was keeping hostages.

But he hesitated. If they weren't here he didn't want to freak anyone out and if they were he didn't want to draw attention to them if their ringers were on. He also needed to move before they cleared this room and he needed to find Jack. He wished his ears would stop ringing so he could hear properly. It would make staying ahead of these guys so much easier.

Mac was about to get back to his feet when he saw the shadow. He didn't even have time to make a sound before the cracking sound and the sharp pain behind his ear.

Then the world went dark.


	31. Chapter 31

Jack saw someone of O'Neill's size and shape down a side hallway as the ran toward the armory. He shouted about what he'd seen to Mac and sped off toward what he thought was the ringleader of this little shenanigan.

He got to the end of the hall and discovered what he'd seen was one of the Tac guys who'd escaped the small group of hostages heading away from the armory to see what he could do about the situation. He also realized Mac hadn't followed him when he'd yelled about O'Neill.

 _Son of a bitch_.

Jack got the Tac guy, Dawes, headed back the way Jack had come. Each one of them now carried a couple of weapons since Dawes had loaded up.

They'd made it around the first corner of the general direction Mac and Jack had been heading when the main lights cut out in favor of flashing red ones and an alarm reminiscent of an air raid siren started to blare.

Heavy boots and shouts followed.

Jack and Dawes switched gears and headed in the direction of the sound. With only a few weapons between them, the firefight was brief and fruitless.

O'Neill's men were able to pin them down with no trouble. The smoke cleared and the two agents moved forward. There was noise fading away on the stairs. Suddenly, not distracted by bad guys and high velocity rounds, Jack realized the reason he'd headed back this way to begin with. "Mac!"

The started scouring the rooms for the younger man, calling out his name. At least Jack knew help was there because the alarm stopped blaring and the lights came back up.

"Mac! Yo Mac, buddy! Where are ya?" Jack called.

He was answered with a sharp, "Dalton!" by a voice that was almost familiar, but his hearing was fuzzy from all the gunfire.

When he and Dawes rounded the corner in the direction of the call, Jack recognized the source immediately. Mac's rather imposing doctor friend was standing by the door of one of the conference rooms. When he met Jack's eyes he held up Mac's cell phone and then Jack saw the glint of red that told him Elliot had Mac's Swiss Army knife too.

"Goddamnit," Jack growled and moved to push past Elliot to see inside the conference room.

"You're not going to like this any better, Jack."

He was right. Jack didn't like what he found any better. Because what he found was nothing.

Well, not nothing. There was a smear of blood drying on the floor. Not a lot. But it was blood. And Jack had a nauseating certainty that it was Mac's.

He was about to ask Elliot if he knew the status of the rest of the building but Elliot had his phone in hand.

"They nabbed the kid," was how he started the conversation. "Okay ... Okay … I'll tell them."

He put it back in his pocket and looked at Jack, more or less ignoring Dawes. "Vis made a couple of trucks heading away from here about ten minutes ago. Headed to the airfield east of here last Look she got." He paused. "Odds are they bagged Mac and cut their losses when the kid had us sound the alarm."

Jack was breathing heavily. Not with exertion or fatigue. With something much darker and harder to bear. "And?" What Jack meant was "Status report. What's next?" but words weren't his strong suit even when he didn't feel like a massive failure so they'd almost entirely left him now.

"And we mobilize a team and go after him. All interorganizational like. Miles is handling it. All we need to do is head to the roof and make the ride he called in."

Jack just nodded and headed back toward the armory with a purposeful stride. Elliot saw him pull out his phone and heard a little bit of the conversation before he headed toward the stairwell.

"Patty? Okay, good … I'm going with … I don't give a good goddamn what you or Oversight wants … So fire me," he bit out. Or tell your bosses to do it their damnselves."

Elliot would have almost smiled if he wasn't worried about Mac a little bit himself. Then he thought about it and smiled anyway. He wouldn't want to be the guy that pissed off Jack Dalton, especially if said pissing had anything to do with someone he'd taken it into his head to protect. He'd read Jack's files. Mac's too. Or he wouldn't have gotten involved with them no matter how big a favor Miles thought he owed the kid. And Mac, well, a kid a resourceful as that one could probably hold his own until the team Miles was working on got to him.

He picked up his pace though.

Sooner was better than later.

0-0-0

Everything was black. That was the last thing he remembered, too.

Blackness.

Maybe the power was out. Maybe the stuff at DXS was a dream. A really bad dream.

Then Mac made the mistake of moving. A stabbing pain shot through his head from behind his ear. He sucked in his breath against the throbbing that spread out from it, and he bit back the urge to throw up from the immediate roll the movement set off in his stomach.

Definitely not a dream.

Also definitely a concussion.

He was on a dusty floor and had a vague sense of movement. He risked moving again to feel for the lump he was sure was there making his head ache. He couldn't do it though. Someone had duct taped his hands behind him. In front of him he could have done something about. Probably. But there was nothing he could do from this position except try to to roll too awkwardly. That explained the ache in his shoulders anyway.

He bounced and the echoing sound the movement sent around him said he was in the back of a truck. Like a moving truck, maybe. He didn't have that 'too full in the ears' feeling he always got if he fell asleep on a plane, so in all likelihood he was on the ground, maybe even still in LA. The distant blaring of horns as the vehicle he was in whipped from one lane to another made LA a good bet, he thought.

He was pretty sure he hadn't been unconscious long. He could feel blood drying in the hair behind his ear, but it wasn't dry. Head wounds tended to bleed a lot, but he didn't think a crack on the back of the head would keep going for hours, especially since he'd been lying still.

 _Okay, this looks pretty bad_ , he thought to himself, feeling the tendrils of panic start to wrap themselves around his chest, and worse his head, making his heart race and his thoughts keep pace with it. He tried taking a deep breath, but it caught as his imagination gave him a quick show of what was probably in store for him.

HIs racing thoughts and pounding heart made him want to curl up in a ball and pretend this wasn't happening.

 _Now, Gus_ , the warm, calm voice said in his head (or was it his ear? Later he was never sure). _What good is that gonna do you?_

 _Not now, Gramps_ , he grumped. Sometimes he welcomed when his mind provided Harry's voice to talk him through difficult moments, but right now was too damned much. No ghost, imaginary or otherwise was going to get him out of this.

 _That's right_ , Harry's voice agreed. _You gotta get yourself outta this mess. You sure as hell got yourself into it. And what did we agree about Gus messes when you were ten?_

"That I'd clean them up myself," he murmured aloud. Harry was always right. It was literally his most annoying habit. Even if he was only imaginary now. Not much had changed.

The same things he'd thought the last time these guys had almost grabbed him at that warehouse were still true. He still had plenty of valuable intel in his head, and now he had the added wrinkle of knowing that DXS existed. This wasn't just about what they'd do to him, or how much he'd hurt, or for how long, or even the fact that they would undoubtedly kill him when they were done. This was also about the other people who would be hurt by him giving O'Neill or any of his men the information inside his head.

While Mac had been unable to calm himself enough to think when all that was at stake was himself, the moment he'd settled enough to remember that what was happening to him could affect other people too, he was able to take that deep breath Harry was always reminding him about. _Deep breath, Gus. Now, work the problem_.

There weren't a lot of these guys. And he had a headache, but was otherwise unhurt. So when they stopped the truck, he had at least a chance of fighting his way free and running away. Mac was fast. He was especially fast without heavy boots.

 _Okay. Good idea_.

Mac started working off his boots. He'd never out run anyone in his usual sort of clunky hiking shoes. But barefoot? He'd outrun those guys in their heavy foot gear, at least enough to get himself to where there were other people, or a phone, or he could hide until … His calmer breath stuttered and sped up again. _Jack. Oh, man, I really hope you're okay, Big Guy._

He worked to slow his breathing down again. Jack was alright. He had to be. Honestly, since they'd become friends, Jack had never once let Mac down, never once not been there when he said he was going to be. He wasn't going to start today.

 _Now, what about those hands, Gus? Those are the second best weapon you've got, kiddo. Your first one is your brain, which seems to be working okay again._

That was a good point.

Mac started trying to get his legs through his arms so he could get his hands around front and maybe bite the duct tape.

By the time he gave up, he was drenched in sweat and more than half sure he'd dislocated one of his thumbs. _Shit._

The truck hit a speed bump … or a baby elephant … something … and Mac was tossed up into the air and he came down hard. He cried out sharply as his hit connected with a bolt in the bed of the truck.

It still hurt like hell a full minute later, but Mac had started to smile anyway. Maybe it was a slightly desperate smile, but it was dark, and he was alone, so no one would ever know.

He scooted down and used his fingertips to find the bolt. He started slowly sawing his wrists back and forth over the bolt. It's edges were sharp enough to hurt his hip, so they were probably sharp enough to help him break through the tape.

He'd just pulled his hands free and ascertained that he had in fact done something not great to his thumb, when the trucks brakes slammed on and he skidded across the metal and hit the wall by the cab.

"Oooof," he complained as pain blossomed, not just in his head where he'd been previously knocked, but all over. Which was no surprise to Mac, who'd been estimating how fast they'd been going as they hit bumps and made turns, and who knew within a few Newtons, exactly how much force his body had just been subjected to.

The urge to curl up and admit defeat wanted to resurface. But the voice in his head this time absolutely forbade that from happening. _Angus, you've got to get up. You've got to get up now. A bully is a bully sweetie. They hate it when you fight back_.

Mac started struggling to his feet, a look of grim determination on his face. He rarely let himself imagine _her_ voice.

If he did, his psyche meant business.

Mac prepared himself for the flood of light he knew would blind him when the doors opened.

He was almost rendered deaf as some aircraft screamed overhead.

Airport.

 _Shit. Shit. Shit._

He could not get taken out of LA with these guys. White hot, sort of greasy fear settled in his gut. He had to get away.

The doors swung open.

He was right. The flood of sunny Los Angeles light rendered him unable to see anything other than vague shapes. So he did the only thing he could think of and ran at them full tilt, lowering himself for a tackle and the moved.

He connected with two bodies solidly and sent them all sprawling.

All that Madden he'd played at Jack's while he was sick must've been good for something. The Big Guy would have been proud of how he'd just taken out guys double teaming him. Probably would say something about trying to get the Cowboys to scout him for their offensive line. Mac scraped along the ground past the men he'd leveled, his momentum being greater than theirs.

Well, more of him was bleeding now. That wasn't ideal.

But it didn't matter. He scrambled to his feet and took off, away from the noise, and his eyes quickly began to adjust.

He'd aimed right and was headed for the tower of the small airport he found himself in. He'd also guessed right in taking off his boots as his unencumbered feet carried him rapidly away from the group of men who were now chasing after him.

Another hundred yards and he'd be close enough for the people in the building to see he needed help, close enough to make noise they might notice. He laid on another burst of speed.

He was close to his goal when the probe darts pierced his back. He had a split second to think the range on that taser was impressive before the electricity rendered any thought useless and pain all that his brain could consider.

He was twitching, stiff, and not altogether sure he was breathing, but he was aware of guys dragging him up off the ground. He struggled weakly, but his nervous system was too overwhelmed.

Electricity was a very effective weapon for incapacitation.

He was aware of being thrown down onto another hard metal surface.

He was vaguely aware of noise, of the pressure of a climb, of the change in altitude.

As consciousness slipped away from him, he was also aware that he must be in the cargo bay. It was pressurized, because it wasn't getting harder to breathe. But there was no denying by the time he greyed out that the temperature had begin to drop.


	32. Chapter 32

He was shivering.

But that didn't make any sense. He felt warm.

Oh hell, and he hurt everywhere. Especially his ears.

He realized it was pressure so, while he couldn't quite open his eyes, he forced himself to yawn. It was followed by a stabbing pain and a pop inside his head, then the pressure released. That was pressure equalizing at altitude.

He was on a plane.

 _Shit_.

He remembered how he got here, who had put him here, and his shivering increased. He remembered being sweaty, but his clothes were no longer damp, and the blood in his hair was dry and itchy, it so he'd been here for a while.

From the level of noise, the general feel, and his vague memories of O'Neill's men tossing him in here, he'd say he was in the fortunately pressurized cargo hold of a plane.

But pressurized or not, that explained his shivering. It was probably somewhere between 36 and 42 degrees Fahrenheit in here. If he'd been here for a while, which his senses told him he had been, he probably had mild hypothermia.

That wasn't awesome.

He was tired, and it hurt to move (not to mention it was more or less pitch black) but lying here and continuing to cool off could actually kill him. Who knew how long he'd be here? He had a creeping sort of sickening suspicion, but he forced it to the back of his mind.

Part of him wanted to argue that drifting off feeling warm and increasingly peaceful was a hell of a lot better way to go than what was in store for him with these guys.

Another much bigger, much louder part of him called bullshit. But it did so in the softest voice he could remember. _You never give up, Angus. It's one of my favorite things about you, even when it gets you in trouble._

He sighed. _Alright. Alright, Mom._

Mac pushed himself up to sitting, swearing in a way he was sure even imaginary moms probably disapproved of when he realized his thumb was dislocated for sure. At least he wasn't tied up.

But he was going to need both hands.

He'd helped Jack set his shoulder one time. It wasn't long after they met and Jack talked him through the whole thing. He remembered closing his eyes, like it was going to hurt him instead of Jack . But he also remembered enough of the basic procedure, knew enough about anatomy, that he thought he could manage it.

 _Ah, man, this is gonna suck_ …

 _ **POP!**_

 _Yeah, yeah, that sucked alright_ , he thought, holding his hand to his midsection, breathing shallow, and rocking back and forth until the sweat-inducing burning backed off a little.

The engines droned on, but that was all he could hear. He was alone, and there was no just talking his way out of this, no way Jack could just kick in a door and save his ass.

No escape.

Not from here.

Mac was finally able to move without feeling like he was going to puke. He started crawling around in the blackness. He ran his head into a couple of crates, bent his sore thumb the wrong way several times, and managed to exert himself into a number of cuts and scrapes bleeding again. But after forever he felt the edges of a vinyl tarp. It was just a piece of one, torn and dirty, but it was enough to wrap around his shoulders, enough to cover most of his torso.

Mac wedged himself into a spot between crates that seemed out of the draft that permeated the place. He pulled the tarp close around him, crossing his arms and clasping his elbows. He felt warmer and his teeth stopped chattering after while. He didn't know if that meant he'd successfully gotten warmer or if his hypothermia was worse.

That didn't matter really.

Whether he wanted it to or not, Mac's head sagged forward onto his chest and he slipped back into a restless, frightened sleep filled with dreams of the past, and worse, his imagined future.

0-0-0

Jack paced back and forth. The jet was spacious, luxurious even. But it wasn't exactly the kind of roomy you wanted when you were stuck on it with a caged bear with a sore paw.

The woman sitting at the small white enamel table with Thornton kept glancing up at him as she typed. If Jack has been in a better mood he would have thought she was a real looker, albeit a little odd fashion-wise.

But not only was it pretty clear on short acquathst they didn't play for the same team, so to speak, the heavily made-up leather and corset wearing platinum blonde Amazon was Miles sister, and therefore off limits according to Mac.

As the young man's name flashed a neon sign in his brain again, Jack swore. "Come on Emily!" Jack snapped. "DXS is useless right now so we need your best work!"

Her red painted lips curved in a smirk at the little twitch of annoyance in Patricia Thornton's shoulders when Jack said DXS was useless. "They're doing their best, Jack." Her smirk grew as she threw a condescending look at the twenty something blonde Analyst alone at the back typing frantically and looking at Jack nervously. "Their best just should have taken the offer from Space-X."

Jack gave the young blonde woman an encouraging nod and glanced almost apologetically at Thornton. Then he sat down in the spot nearest Miles sister and gave her his full attention. "Emily, Mac says you're the best and You hacked DXS for him to get inside to help me. Now I need to return the favor and we've got nothing, not even a flight plan worth a damn. Stop jerking me around. I need to know, have you got anything?"

"What's the magic word?"

"Please?" Jack tried.

"No."

"Goddamnit, Em … oh, sorry. What have you got, Invisigoth? You're as bad as Mac about the whole name thing, you know?"

Vis tipped him a smile that was much more sympathetic and less teasing. "Got you out of your own head for a minute though, didn't I?"

She was damned good at that, too, Jack had to admit. Despite not having known her or her brother well or for long, Jack liked both of them. Well, he liked anybody who was inclined to give a damn about Mac. And they were good at … all of this, actually.

Elliot had tagged along too, saying casually that he'd hadn't gotten Mac fixed up after his GSW just to watch the kid waste all his hard work. Patricia had brought along her own staff, but no one who was personally invested in Mac seemed prepared to leave his well-being, present or future, to chance.

Elliot looked up from where he was working on his own laptop and tipped his chin at Vis. "Give Dalton a break. You got anything?"

She shook her head. "Not exactly no, but nothing on Mac or that flight. I do have some financial transactions for goods that might pin down where they got the waste for those dirty bombs."

Jack sighed and got up to pace again.

Elliot frowned. "I know you already bit your boss's head off when she mentioned her team, but you wanna sit down and let me take a look at you? I saw the feed of them whaling on you before Mac busted you out. And you're not moving so hot, man." Jack halfhearted last glared at him. Elliot was undeterred. "Looks like at least an anterior intercostal strain if not a possible costochondral separation and your pupils look a little …"

"You save your doctor talk for your dead folk and police reports and your diagnosin' for when we've rescued ourselves a hostage, you hear?"

Elliot just shrugged. "Let me know if you decide to defy the odds and be sensible." He went back to work.

A quarter hour passed.

"Damn it," Vis whispered.

"What?" Jack asked, snapping his head around and nearly knocking over a DXS employee who was delivering some sorrow paper to Thornton.

"I've lost satellite and radar on the plane." Her fingers flew over the keyboard. That had been the one consistent link they'd had, since their other avenues to finding out where they were headed were dead ends. Without the compound in Brazil that DXS had recently raised, no one had any idea where they might be headed with Mac. All the chatter was unhelpful.

Patricia touched her earpiece lightly, going a little pale. "So have we."

Jack looked a little frantic. Elliot interrupted before Jack could erupt in fury, or Hulk out as Mac liked to put it. "Miles and I may have something. From the financials …"

"Okay?" Jack prompted, running out of patience.

"You're not gonna like it," Elliot said.

"Maybe tell me anyway. Not likin' a thing ain't exactly outta my way today, Doc."

Elliot looked very serious. He and Miles has been pretty sure when they'd gotten the view of Mac being tossed onto that plane. He'd hoped they were wrong.

He met Jack's eyes.

"It's deja vu all over again."


	33. Chapter 33

_A/N - Trigger warning, torture references. I am re-imagining some of the origin story I wrote last spring and summer to fit with this more in cannon story line. You may see familiar elements if you followed those as we move along through this one._

This time when Mac started to return to consciousness, he fought it.

He didn't want to wake up there, didn't want to open his eyes and see O'Neill or one of his goons grinning at him with sinister enjoyment for what they were about to do. And he definitely didn't want any more of what they'd been putting him through.

He could hear movement in the room and he processed from the red he could see behind his closed lids that there was light coming in the basement windows above the chair he knew he was still tied to. He had passed out when one of the cousins had gone to work on his shoulder with a corkscrew and had apparently stayed out all night.

He groaned quietly as his brain informed him it was done letting him rest and that no matter how unpleasant whatever was in front of him was, he was going to have to face it. He sighed. He really, really didn't want to.

Without opening his eyes, he spat grit from his mouth, grimacing at the flat chalky taste of the Afghani moon dust mixed with the coppery tang of his blood. He kept expecting a bullet in the back of the head but so far that hadn't even been threatened.

 _You're still alive, Gus. Which means you've still got a chance. Show 'em what you're made of, bud._

He counted in his head, thinking he was maybe an unreliable historian at this point, but he was pretty sure he'd been here for about a week. Well, not here; moving from camp to camp with O'Neill and his men. They were high in the mountains now. He sighed again, but it was almost a sob this time. He clenched his jaw, trying to get on top of the feeling.

As the cobwebby blanket of sleep and minor concussion started to loosen their grip on his brain, he had the momentary hopeful thought that maybe he could pretend to give these guys a little something and get a break from the torment, buy himself a little time for Jack and DXS to mount a rescue. Assuming any of them were still alive, that was.

Whoever was in the room jostled his chair a little.

He had the sick, sinking certainty that if no one had found him by now, they weren't going to.

He peeled his eyes open, steeling himself for whatever the new day held.

He was surprised to find a mutantly tall guy who would have probably been able to go toe to toe with the Hulk if he wasn't so thin a stiff breeze would blow him away. The guy had sharp, pleasant Nordic features combined with fine strawberry blond hair and a scraggly beard. He was standing in front of Mac with a canteen. He was deeply tan, prematurely wrinkled from the elements, and dirty, dressed in nondescript stained linen pants and a tunic.

Mac processed the bright green eyes and rasped, "Zwickey?"

The man blinked a few times, like he didn't understand what Mac said. Mac tried again, "Big Z?"

This time the green eyes flickered with recognition, of the nickname at least. "You don't have a lot of time. Have a drink."

The voice was tentative, but his hands were steady as he raised the canteen to Mac's dry lips.

The bite of chlorine and iodine marred the taste of the water, water that was at least body temperature anyway, but Mac was grateful for it. He was so parched his tongue felt too big for his mouth.

They'd been doling out just enough water to keep him alive. He couldn't remember the last time they'd let him up from the chair to use the dark fetid latrine behind the house. He also couldn't remember when he'd last needed it. Around noon yesterday, he thought blearily.

If this was how they treated prisoners, he wondered how in the blue hell Zwickey was still alive. And why.

"I tried to get them to keep looking for you," Mac whispered.

He hadn't intended to speak again at all, but something in him needed Z to know he hadn't been forgotten. Zwickey looked like someone had slapped him for a second but then he patted Mac's shoulder gently, full recognition dawning on his face. "I wouldn't have expected anything less, Hollywood."

Voices approached from the stairs then. Zwickey hurried to set aside the canteen and stand off to the side, looking at the ground.

"Well, cockadoodledoo, there, Hollywood," O'Neill said lazily as he sauntered into the room, flanked by two guys who could give Zwickey a run for his money size-wise, and they were a hell of a lot better fed and conditioned. His eyes scanned Mac's face for signs of weakness.

Something in Mac that hadn't grown up, that probably never would, asserted itself then. He let his aching face split into a smartassed grin. He felt his lip start to bleed almost immediately. "Good morning to you, too. Any chance you brought some coffee? The room service in this place sucks."

He almost shivered visibly at the low, threatening chuckle that brought out of his captor. He stopped himself from trembling, but it took everything he had.

O'Neill nodded at the other men. One of them dragged an old washtub and bucket out of the corner and the other shouted something up the stairs, then grabbed Zwickey by the elbow and herded him out of the room.

"Well, I didn't bring coffee. But I think we can arrange for you to wet your whistle again today."

Mac stared up at him defiantly. But when the familiar face of the dark eyed kid O'Neill called son entered lugging the first bucket of dirty water, Mac's resolve disappeared like smoke in a stiff breeze, and he started shaking.

O'Neill gripped his face and forced eye contact, sensing that they were getting close. "Unless you'd rather chat over that coffee you mentioned instead."

Mac swallowed, his mouth and throat so dry it was like trying to get gravel down. "On second thought I think I should cut back on caffeine."

The sound of the water pouring out into the tub made him flinch, but he didn't break eye contact.

"You sure, kid? The missus makes damn fine coffee. And that water there is of somewhat questionable provenance."

Mac closed his eyes, suddenly too tired for even another word of defiant banter. "Go to Hell."

"Sure. Why don't you warm up the place for me then."

He kicked the chair over and Mac crashed against the ground. He heard O'Neill (whose real name he still didn't know) call for his brother-in-law, Zahir.

This was going to be bad. Zahir was the worst of them.

He hoped he'd lose consciousness faster this time.

He didn't know how much more he could take.

0-0-0

Jack sat at the makeshift table alone, drinking depressingly familiar shitty mess tent coffee.

He appreciated the assist the small outpost had offered their team under the auspices of the CIA through Miles, but his appreciation didn't improve the quality of the grub.

He'd choked down an MRE around sunrise before going out with one of the patrols. He thought it was one of their "western omelettes" which was enough to put down an elephant, but he'd drowned it in enough Tabasco that it had only tasted about half as bad as Jack felt.

At least he knew the kid was still alive. But that wasn't much, not after the video of him that Vis had pulled out of an encrypted message. O'Neill answered to somebody. And he was making sure that somebody knew the mission in LA hadn't been a total wash.

Unfortunately, that was about all they had for new intel. They couldn't pin down a location. And there were so many little pockets of extremists here in the mountains that trying to find just one was, to borrow one of Mac's analogies, like throwing darts in the dark.

In fact, if Jack was honest, the intel was worse than the food. Four raids so far, and nothing.

Well, not nothing. The team Jack had been going out with had actually busted up two active cells and a bomb assembly operation outside a small village not too far away. But no Mac. And no sign of Mac but that godawful thirty second video clip.

Thornton had headed back to LA yesterday. She'd tried ordering him to do the same. "We have another mission. They'll notify us when they have something, Jack," she'd said gently.

She'd stiffened at the cold look in his normally warm brown eyes.

After a minute, she'd added, "While we stay here trying to find him, other threats are going unaddressed. The boss wants me to remind you that MacGyver isn't one of our agents, and while Oversight is comfortable diverting some resources and maintaining Mac's official status as an asset to prioritize this search and rescue he ... they …"

Jack interrupted, "You can remind the boss that I don't hafta work for you. I'm not leavin' without Mac. The kid comes home with me."

He didn't add that if that was in a box that didn't much matter at this point. Angus MacGyver was not going to spend a second more in this shithole than he had to, dead or alive. Then, after Thornton had left, the video had come in and, as bad as it was, Jack felt almost weak with relief.

He'd ignored offers of mid-day food, and been stewing over the map in front of him for a while now. Three known locations left and none of them showed any activity on the last clean satellite pass. He was sure with such an indomitable spirit Mac was still holding up, that he knew friends were looking and would by God find him if it was the last thing they did. He wanted to believe Mac hadn't yet given up hope. As for Jack, he was damned close. Not to giving up, never that. But hope was getting harder and harder to reach out and grab as the hours slipped past.

Elliot brushed into the tent then on purposely loud combat boot-clad feet, dressed to blend in at this outpost like the next-level operative Jack was now certain he was, dropping his bag on the table in front of Jack and giving him a grin that gave Jack a tiny fistful of the hope he desperately needed.

"Gear up, Old Man. Vis found something."

0-0-0

He was still thirsty.

The shame of how greedily he'd drank the bottle of water Zahir has let him have when he finally said he'd cooperate with O'Neill was still burning in his cheeks. It didn't matter that he'd agreed only after they'd shot Zwickey, once in the leg and then in the hand. It didn't matter that Mac had spent more countless hours unable to catch a real breath. Every time he thought of himself saying, "Stop! Okay, I'll do the work. Just stop," his face heated anew.

Well, it was that or the fever. He knew he was dehydrated, and the sticky runny crust on a number of his scrapes and that nasty puncture wound from the corkscrew, signaled an infection. Forget the wet rattle that had started in his chest after the third encounter with that tub and bucket.

But he'd eaten, been allowed almost a pint of water before they took it away. That should have given him some hope, but it hadn't.

O'Neill had said something to Zahir when they hauled him up off the floor, and Mac had caught the phrase, "last ten days paid off," and that was all it had taken to destroy the last shred of hope he had that Jack or anyone else was coming for him. He couldn't wind up like Zwickey, who he knew was now wounded and being dragged off to another camp. He had to do something.

He shifted a few components along the work table. Ravi, O'Neill's son, all of maybe eleven, shifted the weapon on his lap and gave Mac a bored look. You knew they no longer considered you any kind of a threat when they left a child to watch you, especially one who left the safety on his weapon and who dozed on the crate he was perched on from time to time.

If no one was coming, he'd do what he could; what he needed to do.

Mac carefully slipped some wires into the waistband of his pants when Ravi glanced out the window. Tonight or tomorrow night at the latest, Mac was going to get out of this hell hole.

Or die trying.


	34. Chapter 34

Jack normally enjoyed the lead up to an op. He liked the building tension around him, the way it put people on the razor's edge of bringing their absolute best or crumpling under the pressure. It usually relaxed Jack to no end.

Not this time though. This time he just wanted to get where they were going and get Mac back.

He was frustrated by the slow crawl from the forward operating base they were now working out of, but there was little he could do about it. Getting there by air was apparently not an option for a number of reasons. There'd been a lot of ground to air fire in recent weeks, and it was decided that they couldn't risk the noise, the visibility.

The team Jack and Elliot had been sent to join up with believed Mac to be a high value asset. Jack was still pretty pissed at the boss and the boss's boss for trying to pull him out of here, for not giving him a full Tac team. But he was grateful at least that the boots on the ground here had been told Mac was important to the government. And as far as Jack was concerned that wasn't even a lie. He was an agent, a representative if you will, of that government, and Mac was sure as Hell important to him.

Now they were taking trucks about two and a half hours from base, as close as they could reasonably get to the camp where satellite images had confirmed the chatter Vis had picked up that Mac was being held. O'Neil had been in one of those photos, too. Jack really wanted a word with that asshole. He hoped the son of a bitch was still there.

The couple of trucks began to slow and Jack took in the view.

There were several lighted areas dotting the hillsides around them. Jack was pretty sure he knew which one was the small collection of houses they were headed to. He slid out of the truck and started checking his gear along with the other guys. It was a feeling as familiar as slipping on a favorite pair of shoes.

The moonlight was so bright it almost made the imposed light discipline feel moot. Almost. Jack didn't want these bastards to see them coming. He wanted to comfortably get the drop on them so he knew he could get to Mac. The last image they gotten of the kid he looked beat to hell and was shackled and handcuffed, moving from one of the small houses to a nearby barn. His apparent condition had Elliot stocking extra supplies in his bag even though the team had a medic of their own.

The team leader motioned for the group to move out. As one, they silently made their way up the hillside. Part of Jack still wished he had a DXS team to strike this place and take it apart. Another part appreciated the familiar movements and tactics of these career soldiers.

They were pretty close when suddenly the lights in all of the small group of houses went out. They were far enough away that they couldn't make out words, but they could hear the shouts of men in the camp calling out to each other.

Jack just had time to process that things weren't exactly going to plan when an explosion lit up the night sky like Fourth of July out in Corpus Christi when he was a kid. When a second and then a third followed about thirty seconds apart, Jack's face split into a grin. That was the signature of a certain blond genius with a silly hamburger name if ever he saw one.

Jack was aware of the other guys fanning out, executing their plan. He didn't pay them much attention as he made a b-line for the barn he recognized from the images Vis had gotten to them. It was burning with an aggressive blaze in one corner from one of the explosions. And unfortunately the fire had already engulfed the entrance. Jack swore and started to haul himself up onto one of the window sills.

Elliot's voice called out from behind him, "Here?"

"Last place we saw him; might as well start here as anywhere." Jack used his elbow to break out the glass.

"Good luck. I'll check the other barn and be right back."

Jack didn't turn to see what direction Elliot had left in. He slid down into the gathering smoke and growing heat, hell bent on finding Mac as quickly as possible, hoping his instincts were good and this is where he'd find the kid.

The place was a crowd of stacked boxes and crates. From the smell it had probably housed goats and maybe even horses at some point in the recent past, but now it looked like the only thing this particular piece of property grew was weapons.

Gun drawn, Jack made his way through the building, sweating buckets in the intensifying heat and doing his best not to cough up a lunch in the thickening smoke.

Over the crackle of the fire, Jack heard movement. He was hopeful for a split second, but he then heard a snarling mumbled curse that might or might not have been in Pashto, choked as it was by a restrained cough. Then he was absolutely certain he heard the beginnings of Mac saying something, followed by a sharp crack, and the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Jack threw caution to the wind and rounded a stack of crates in time to see an imposing bearded man standing over the body of a filthy, bloody, and hopefully only unconscious blond, with a Liberator pistol aimed at the kid's head.

Jack squeezed off a shot and dropped the guy where he stood without breaking stride. He did pause long enough to kick the bootleg old school CIA knock off gun well away from the terrorist. He was clearly dead, but Jack was a big believer in not taking chances. Especially not during an extraction. If he wasn't concerned with conserving ammo he'd have but another round into the guy just to be sure.

What he did instead was drop down into a crouch on the floor next to Mac and reach out and touch under Mac's unusually scruffy jaw to feel his pulse. It was rapid, and it felt a little irregular, but sure as the dawn, the kid was alive. Once he had that tactile reassurance, he processed the panting rise and fall of Mac's chest.

He first tried rousing Mac, gently jostling his arm. "Hey kid, c'mon. You with me?"

Mac's already ragged breath hitched but he didn't stir beyond that. "Elliott!" Jack called out, and when he didn't answer Jack just called more generally, "Medic!"

At Jack's shout this time, Mac flinched. His eyes moved rapidly behind his lids, then they fluttered open and went wide. He couldn't process the familiar brown eyes and stubble covered jaw as real, couldn't believe he could possible be out of danger. He'd dreamt of rescue so often over the last however many days only to be dragged back to consciousness for more pain, more questions, that he thought it was another dream, that Zahir was back, or another or O'Neill's cronies, and this time that would mean death after what he'd done to their camp.

Mac started scrambling back, digging with his bare feet, trying to get up or at least get to sitting and he couldn't quite make it. He breath was coming in uneven strained hitches.

Jack reached out and firmly grasped Mac's forearm. He spoke sharply, "Mac! Mac! It's Jack." Then he gentled his tone. "We're here. The cavalry's arrived. You're okay, bud."

Mac blinked a couple of times, looking at Jack like he didn't believe he was real; but he'd stopped his frenzied ineffectual efforts at getting away. His mouth opened, but he hesitated. Finally he whispered in a husky croak, "Jack?" Entirely against his will, his eyes filled with hot tears that were part relief at being rescued and part shock that someone had come for him. So many times people had left Mac. So many times he'd just been on his own. And he'd been here … forever, it felt like. "You came," was whispered with something like awe.

"What was that, bud?" Jack asked leaning in closer.

"Nothing," he shook his head. "Help me up."

"Medic's on the way, kid. You should …"

"Should what? Stay here and cook? Help me up," he repeated a little more forcefully and tried again to get his feet under him.

Jack half smiled. This kid had a yard of guts. It was one of the first things Jack had realized when they met, although at the time he'd taken it for general dumbassed stubbornness rather than the tenacity and bravery that it was. "Alright," he agreed, and shifted to take his friend's weight.

Mac reached up to grasp Jack's arm and wound up crying out in pain from the wound to his shoulder. He bit it back quickly but not quickly enough to keep Jack from zeroing in on it and trying to force Mac back down to the ground.

Jack looked around, a little desperate. "Medic!" he tried again.

Mac paused in his efforts to move, knowing once Jack was in full Overwatch mode arguing with him would be irritating and fruitless. But when no one answered Jack's call, Mac said, "See, your crazy ass was the only one dumb enough to come into a burning building after somebody who was probably dead. Now help me, just maybe come around the other side."

Jack did so reluctantly, and Mac gripped Jack shoulder and got himself as far as really sitting.

Jack looked around hopefully one last time, but seeing nothing but rolling smoke, he got an arm around Mac and hauled him to his feet. Mac gasped and Jack thought he'd hurt him, but he found Mac once again backpedaling, a look of horror on his face. It only took Jack a second to realize why. The dull, black eyes of Mac's dead tormentor started up at them.

He reaffirmed the hold he had around Mac's shoulders. "Whoa, Mac, whoa, he's not gonna hurtcha anymore, kid. That hole in the middle of his forehead ain't a third eye."

Mac deliberately slowed his breathing and nodded. He leaned heavily against Jack and allowed himself to be led to a broken window. He stepped on a piece of glass and swore.

"Shit," Jack mumbled, realizing for the first time that Mac was without shoes or socks.

Mac, with his inherently practical nature, just picked up his foot and pulled the glass out of it, breath hissing through his teeth. Afterward, he forced a sideways smile. "Glad it's not Christmas or the Die Hard references would probably be coming hard and fast now."

"Well, now," Jack said, boosting Mac up over the glass on onto the sill before the kid could protest the assistance, "I wouldn't hate dropping that sonofabitch O'Neill off Nakatomi Plaza now that you mention it. But I'll take bustin' a cap in him if that's all I can get."

"You're gonna have to wait for that, pal. Bastard hasn't been around in a couple days." Mac dropped down onto the ground outside and his knees just buckled, sending him back to the ground. "I'm okay, I'm alright," he said quickly as Jack seemed to materialize beside him.

Jack ignored Mac's assurances, and kept a firm hand on his shoulder in a effort to keep him on the ground. Earning a slight eye roll from Mac, Jack once again called for help, this time trying Elliot by name.

They didn't get to wait for help to arrive though because another explosion went off, causing them both to flinch and debris to start raining down on them.

Mac slipped free of Jack's grip. "Forgot about those charges. Run!"

They did, and as they cleared out away from the barn, Jack saw Mac's slight grin when a cascade of explosions went off behind them. They were about halfway to the trucks when Mac finally stumbled and went down again.

The next thing Mac was really aware of was lying on his back on the ground. Someone was handling his arm gently, but that was sort of ruined when there was a stabbing pain followed by a grumbled, "Son of a bitch. I blew another one."

Then he heard Jack say, "Is today your first day? Jesus!"

"I'm good at this! Damned kid's veins are like freakin' fiberglass, and he's twitchy as hell even out cold."

Mac peeled his eyes open. "The damned kid would rather you just used the back of his hand, if you don't mind," he said wryly.

Jack chuckled softly. That was total Mac. Even half unconscious there was something that wouldn't let his internal smartass quit.

The medic raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. "We can give it a try, but …"

Jack interrupted by shouting, "Elliot! Mathers where the hell did you go?"

Mac almost laughed when Elliot appeared as if by magic right beside Jack and Jack nearly jumped out of his skin; almost. Really just breathing hurt, so Mac felt like laughing was maybe out of the question.

"Hey Mac," Elliott said pleasantly. Then he waved toward something outside Mac's field a vision. "Got a shrapnel wound over there they could maybe use your help with," was his mild suggestion to the medic. "Besides, this one is my patient already."

As Elliot squatted down next to him and picked up his arm and started looking it over, mumbling darkly about the entirety of military medicine as a discipline, Mac tried to focus, to articulate what was going on in his head, with little success. He was coughing from the smoke, he knew he had a fever, and he hurt everywhere. But he also knew he was missing something important. "Hey, um, hang on a minute," he finally managed. "Wait."

Elliot gave up on that side and moved around to his other arm. "Wait for what, Mac? You to spontaneously grow a non-frustrating circulatory system?"

Without further comment or searching, he started the IV line and got fluids started. "Ow," Mac groused, more because he'd expected it to hurt than because it actually had. Mac tried to finish his previous thought, but goddamn he just hurt everywhere, his mouth was so dry, and he was tired, just so damned tired. "Just … Um …" he trailed off, frowning. "I need to … um … tell you guys …" he trailed off, having lost the thread again.

Jack squeezed his free hand trying to get him to focus a little as much as reassure the kid that everything was really going to be okay. "This team's gonna clear the camp now, Mac. Any more fun bombs they oughta know about."

Mac blinked, thinking hard, trying to pay attention to what Elliot was doing, to what Jack was saying, to what his brain was trying to get him to remember, all with little success … Bombs. Okay, that he could handle. "No ...they've all been … Aahhh, Hell," he gasped as Elliot peeled back his tattered sleeve and pressed a clean bandage to his oozing shoulder.

"What the hell happened here?" Elliot said more to himself than to Mac, but Mac glanced at him then away.

Mac spoke in an almost hollow voice. "I got hurt." He pushed the doctor's hands away with a scowl and pressed the bandage down himself, breathing deeply to keep from just having to roll onto his side to be sick.

Jack was getting up to go tell the others that Mac thought all the armed explosives were already detonated. He said as much, but Mac only half heard him. He did process Jack moving away and he grabbed the tail of his shirt that had come untucked at some point. Jack dropped back down, giving the kid a reassuring pat on the arm. "I'll be right back, bud. I just gotta go pass on that info. Elliot won't let 'em transport ya without me, okay?"

Mac nodded, his eyelids starting to droop. He'd remembered something, but it had slipped away again almost immediately. "'Kay," he agreed, as though that's what he'd actually been worried about. It hadn't been, but right now saying so would have taken too much energy.

Jack had made it about three steps away when Mac suddenly bolted upright, startling Elliot and causing an unwelcome reminder of every cut, bruise, scrape, or other memory of mistreatment to rip through his own body making his words a breathless gasp. "There's another camp nearby … O'Neill … Zwickey …"

He trailed off and sunk back, with Elliot supporting him, quietly directing and reassuring him. He wasn't sure if it was just his general poor condition and overwhelmed nervous system or if Elliot had put something in his IV, but his eyes felt like lead weights were attached to the lids and he started to drift having not quite managed to articulate his thought that Jack and this team needed to know Zwickey was still alive, hurt but still alive, and O'Neill had taken him with him when he'd left here.

Mac could tell when Jack spoke that he thought Mac was just hurt, maybe even delirious. Once again he'd tried to get Zwickey help, and just like five years ago, he was too injured and out of it for anyone to take him seriously. Mac was vaguely aware of being moved, but as he finally went out more completely he vowed when he woke up he would make someone listen.

Jack would, once Mac wasn't a bloodied mess and sounded more with it, Mac was certain. And if even Jack wouldn't listen he'd go get Zwickey himself. He wasn't going to let the man down, to leave him here at the mercy of these evil men again.


	35. Chapter 35

Jack felt like the trip back to the base took about ten years. Mac looked awful. His sleep was restless and he frequently mumbled some nonsense that Jack couldn't quite make out. He was filthy and bloody and he looked too thin. Too young.

Elliot contemplated Jack for a long moment as he took his patient's blood pressure. The man was doing a decent job keeping it under wraps, but Elliot couldn't miss the worry in Jack's eyes. "He's okay, Jack," he said mildly. "This looks a lot worse than it is. Physically anyway."

Mac's brain chose that moment for something less than fun to play in his dreams and the resulting whimper made Jack cringe. "Mentally, I'm guessin' he's gonna need a minute," he said softly, stealing a glance at Elliot's face.

Elliot nodded. Anybody who walked away from a week of being tortured and basically blowing themselves up to get away was bound to struggle. Although Elliot had a feeling the kid would be okay. When he'd agreed to look after Mac's injury when he quit X-com it had been on the condition that he actually be a decent patient since Miles had told him all about Mac. Mac had been shockingly forthcoming. If the kid could overcome emotional obstacles like the ones in his family history to be a soldier, to be any kind of functioning adult, he could probably overcome this.

Mac groaned and looked like he was trying to pry his eyes open. Then he let out a long breath in what sounded like a frustrated sigh and seemed to give in and doze more deeply. Jack frowned at Elliot. "Did you dope him?"

Elliot shrugged. "It was that or strap his arm down. That medic Dillon blew enough sticks before you yelled for me that there aren't exactly a lot of good options left. And Mac was pretty squirmy from all the adrenaline. Didn't want him pulling that IV out. He needs fluids, antibiotics. Sooner is better and we're a ways out from facilities."

Jack nodded, still frowning. "He's gonna be pissed."

"Probably less than if he blew another vein and I had to use his foot or his knee. Or worse, resort to a central rather than peripheral line. Easiest site for that's the abdomen."

"Dude, gross."

"Pretty sure Mac would agree with you, Jack. Which is why …"

"No wonder Mac likes you even when you're being a doc. You're as nerdy as he is," Jack interrupted, not really wanting to know more about IVs because it sort of made him want to puke. Not a lot, but at least a little.

Elliot grinned. "For a living breathing patient, Mac's pretty alright, too. I thoroughly enjoy not having to dumb down my explanations and he never whines. Half of why I went into pathology is I can't tolerate whining. I bet you're a terrible patient. You look like a whiner," he teased. Jack was a man who needed out of his own head. Kid looked rough, sure, but Jack looked like he thought he'd caused every scratch or bruise Mac had.

Jack smiled slightly. "Oh yeah. I'm the worst," he chuckled. "I caught a cold on a mission one time and my friend Sarah never did stop pickin' on me for being prone to man-flu."

Elliot laughed. He could absolutely picture that. He suspected Jack would be dramatic for its own sake or to deflect attention, whereas Mac was likely to be dangerously stoic. Both types of patients presented their own sort of challenges and he was glad he only had to contend with one of them. He glanced down as Mac shifted in obvious discomfort.

Mac mumbled again. This time Jack caught, "Zwickey, no, run," before Mac sighed again and relaxed.

Jack supposed he should have known that being back over here under these circumstances would bring back up what happened his last go round with the Mazari. Poor kid. Probably seeing all kinds of ghosts after what he'd been through. "Maybe you should have given him more. This doesn't seem all that restful."

Elliot shook his head. "I've given him all I'm comfortable with out here. It's … he's apparently not easy to medicate. He told me he woke up during minor knee surgery when he was a teenager. He ought to be out cold right now. Stubborn doesn't just apply when Mac's awake."

Jack was thoughtful. When Mac has gotten kind of blown up when they'd first met (a turn of phrase that drove other people crazy but which made perfect sense to the two of them), he'd refused anything other than Tylenol, saying stronger meds wouldn't really work for him anyway so why force his liver to metabolize it?

Jack was quiet for the rest of the ride back to base, studying Mac's face thoughtfully and listening to his fevered sleep mumblings.

0-0-0

Mac woke up completely after several hours back at the base. Well, base was generous as anything more than an expression. It was a few commandeered buildings and some tents and shipping containers. Their field hospital was rudimentary at best, but was more than sufficient for their immediate purposes. Air fire had been heavy enough over the last few days that the only way they were risking a flight out was for life or death emergencies.

Mac was happy to not be one of those. He was also not as pissed at Elliot as he might have been for medicating him without asking because he had only the vaguest of memories of getting cleaned and stitched up and settled in a bed. He didn't hate having not really been with it for all of that. He did know that Jack had hardly been out of his sight. The hovering might have annoyed the younger man if it had been anyone else, but Mac found he didn't mind so much.

He didn't feel like he was firing on all cylinders yet though. Coffee. He definitely wanted coffee. That was unlikely to happen as it was pretty clearly still dark out. And the lights in the tent like structure his bed was in were dimmed. He rubbed his eyes with one hand and looked over at the source of the soft snoring that had woken him up. Jack was parked on an unmade-up gurney next to Mac and since it lacked sheets and Jack was still fully dressed, including his side arm, Mac felt reasonably certain Jack wasn't hurt. But he looked as scruffy as Mac felt.

Speaking of, Mac ran his hand over his jaw. _Ugh._ He hated not shaving. Compared to Jack's almost instant five o'clock shadow, Mac had what Jack would still derisively refer to as peach fuzz, but he wanted a shower and a razor more than he wanted coffee. Okay, so the middle of the night was maybe not the time to ask for any of those things, but he was starving. Food was all he could think about. That and maybe a cold drink that didn't taste like chlorine tablets or goat drool. And that wasn't going to keep until sun up.

As far as Mac could tell, this was sort of a temporary hospital, more of a collection of tents from the look of his "room" and the muted sounds now, and his few memories of coming here, so he wasn't entirely surprised there were no call buttons, no automatic bed adjusting buttons either. Fortunately he'd been sleeping already mostly sitting up so he didn't immediately need to test how miserable moving might make him. But lacking staff poking their heads in here, he had one way to get himself some food. "Jack," he began. He cleared his throat and tired again. "Jack." Still no luck. "Dalton!"

Jack snorted awake, sitting up and scrubbing his hands over his face, looking startled. When he saw Mac sitting there looking at him expectantly, his face cracked into a million fine lines in his familiar broad grin. "Hey there, kid. How ya doin' after that nice nap?"

Mac shook his head with a small smile. "Not too bad, considering. Sorry to interrupt _your_ nap, but um, do you think there's anything to eat around here at this time of night?"

Jack started to rise. "I'm gonna go let somebody know you're really awake so they can …"

"Or you could pretend I slept through the night and just go steal me a protein bar or something from somewhere. You know, if you wanted to. Instead."

"Really hungry, huh?" he asked instead of arguing with Mac about getting staff to look in on him.

"You have no idea, man."

Something passed over Jack's face then. Mac took the shadow to mean that Jack did in fact know exactly what Mac had been through, knew exactly what it was like to be fed nothing but brackish water and moldy old stale bread or maybe some bones with little fat or meat on them for days. He was about to rephrase that when Jack just said, "I'll be right back with something, kid."

He wasn't gone long, but what he brought back wasn't a protein bar. He returned with a tall dark haired man he introduced at Captain O'Hara. Mac gave Jack a half-hearted side glare as he tolerated what he thought of as unnecessary medical rigamarole, including having to tell the guy four times to please just call him Mac.

"So, Doc," Mac said, ignoring Jack and pretending he hadn't heard O'Hara ask him to rate his pain for the third time. "Other than starving I feel pretty damned okay. Any chance I can get some food and take care of the one thing actually bothering me at the moment?"

Considering what he knew the young man had been through just from evaluating his physical condition, he thought MacGyver seemed remarkably well, and he was certainly disinclined to accept any more medication as all attempts to ascertain his pain level had been met with subject changing. _High value asset_ was a designation that didn't surprise the captain at all. There was something more to this kid than his almost painfully young features would lead you to believe. He didn't want to encourage him to push himself though. "All we've got are MREs … not a great variety of them either …"

Mac shrugged. "I don't even care if it's the freaking eggs, Captain. As long as nobody's bogarted the tobasco out of them, I'm okay with pretty much whatever you've got."

"If you haven't eaten in a few days, clear liquids …"

"I've eaten," Mac interrupted, almost sharply. "I mean, not a lot, but … Just … I can't face bouillon and victory punch, alright? Real food. Please."

He said please, but the tone was more of a demand. The doctor glanced at Jack who shrugged. He'd back the doc up if he told Mac no, but he wasn't overly inclined to challenge the young man himself at the moment. "Alright. If you keep it down you can have as much as you want."

Mac grinned and Jack had the brief thought that even with the split swollen lip and the back eye he looked entirely like himself in that moment. "Thanks!" he said, sounding genuinely grateful.

"Dalton, come with me and I'll show you where the stash is. That way you can keep him in chili and macaroni without having to ask one of us. We got another crew coming in from a raid so it may get a little busy here for a while. Your buddy Mathers is sleeping next door if you need anything. Your boss called and had us show him around so … Like for example if Mac decides he needs something for pain …"

"Don't be passive aggressive," Mac said with another small grin. "I don't need anything but food. And if there's any bottled water around here I …" He felt a little panicked talking about water for some reason. His heart started hammering in his chest and it took everything he had to not just start panting like he was terrified. _Stop_ , he ordered himself, and he was mostly successful in slamming down the lid on that feeling. "Okay, I maybe need a bathroom, too," he said, because for one thing it was true, and for another it would distract their looks of concern from him just trailing off.

Jack came back a few minutes later with an armload of bottle waters, a couple of MREs, and some protein bars. Despite his claims to the contrary, Mac really did mind any number of types of MRE, but Jack had dug up a beef stew one. It still needed tobasco, but the stews were the least nasty as far as Mac was concerned. And it had M&Ms. He remembered trading stuff with other guys for the M&Ms back when he was first in country. He'd given away whole entrees for the chocolate before. Something about it just tasted like home.

Once he'd eaten, his thoughts started to slow down a little and he began to really sort through his memories of the last twelve hours or so. He realized he'd almost done the unthinkable and let the most important thing slip into the haze in his brain from the meds and the concussion. He couldn't let that happen.

"Jack!" he exclaimed, just as the older man was dozing off on his makeshift bed.

"Yeah, bud?" he mumbled.

"I can't remember if you know, if I told you … Zwickey is alive, Jack, and O'Neill …"

Jack sat back up. "Hold your horses there, kid. When we found you, you were about delirious. You've got a pretty good infection some busted ribs, a concussion, and where your shoulder got all torn up, ya might need surgery when we get you home …"

"That's not important right now. I need you to …"

"And you were starved, evidenced by the fact that the catfood the Army's callin' beef stew didn't make you hurl all over this place. Do you think maybe …"

"I'm not delirious now. And I wasn't then," Mac said forcefully. "Zwickey is still alive. I don't know how or why. I do know he didn't look like he'd had a decent meal since the last time I saw him. And he'd only a few years older than me but he looked older than you."

"Hey!" Jack said, pretending to be offended, mostly to buy a second to really study Mac's pale bruised face.

"He's alive and O'Neill shot him. Twice. Right in front of me. Then he took him with him when he left a couple days ago. Said since I broke so easy Zwickey was finally pulling his weight." Mac swallowed hard, his breath hitching with self-recrimination. "I did, too. Break easy."

Jack got up and sat on the edge of Mac's bed facing him. "You didn't though. Didja, bud? You didn't tell them squat I bet. You just told 'em you'd do their dirty work for 'em and it got your hands free and you used that to light that place up like the mall at Christmas."

Mac studied his hands for a moment, then looked up at Jack again. "I might have … said more … if they'd shot him again. It … that sound …" Mac closed his eyes. He wasn't going to talk about that. Not now. Not ever. Jack thought Mac hated guns because he was a pacifist. Better to let that be, he thought. "But you're right. I didn't tell them much of anything." He forced a small smile. "And I did blow the hell out of that place."

Jack patted Mac's unbandaged shoulder. "You sure did, kid."

Mac tilted his head to one side. "I'd like the chance to do it again to the other camp."

Jack chuckled and shook his head. "I got a briefing with some of the mucky mucks here later in the morning. Patty greased the wheels for me to finish this with the guys here."

"Great. What time is the briefing?" Mac asked, eyes looking truly clear for the first time since he opened them. As soon as he realized Jack was accepting what he said about Zwickey still being alive, he felt himself relax at least partially.

Jack shook his head. "It's at Mac will still be keeping his ass in bed o'clock."

"Mac doesn't need to be keeping his ass in bed even now, dude," Mac returned, a line forming across his otherwise smooth forehead.

Jack laughed outright this time. "If you could see yourself, kid, you'd laugh at ya too," Jack said in response to Mac's singularly grumpy expression.

He knew Jack was being completely reasonable, knew that if Jack believed Zwickey was alive he'd convince anyone else that needed convincing that their mission went from just capture or kill the bad guy to a rescue, too. But Mac still shifted uncomfortably at the thought of not making sure himself that Zwickey got to come home this time. Mac sat back at little with a sigh. "Fine. But you'll let me know what the plan is at least, right? And I can maybe get on the radio with you guys? They have all kinds of explosives, Jack and …"

"And this place has its own bomb nerd. But I'll see what I can do, if you'll try to get a little more sleep, alright?"

Mac nodded. "Okay. I guess." He lay back and found as soon as he'd shifted himself onto the pillow he was too sleepy to even contemplate anything other than closing his eyes.

The speed with which Mac was back out cold told Jack it would be a little while before the kid was ready to do much more than kick up a fuss. Action, and maybe even a radio connection to the action, were out of the question. Knowing he was likely going to be part of that action himself, Jack kicked back for some more sleep himself.

0-0-0

When Mac woke again he insisted he felt like a million bucks. Sore, sure, he'd admit to that, but other than that, he was great. So he could definitely go to the briefing. No reason why he couldn't.

"Why are you guys looking at me like that?" he'd asked Jack, Elliot, Captain O'Hara, and a nurse whose name he thought was Wells, but he couldn't see his uniform patch and he didn't want to ask and admit that he was having some short term memory problems because heaven knew they'd make a big deal out of it.

Jack spoke first. "I'm sorry kid, but you didn't have the training for this kind of gig when you were active duty. And, not to beat the same dead horse I've been whalloping on all morning, but you're hurt. Whether you want to own up to it or not."

"I'm fine," Mac insisted. He just wanted to go to the briefing. He honestly didn't see what the big deal was.

Captain O'Hara just shook his head. "You're not military so I can't order you to stay in that bed, which you very kindly reminded me, twice. I've already told you what I think. And your guys agree with me." He nodded at Jack and Elliot.

Both of them folded their arms simultaneously. Straightforward was clearly not the way to go about this. "Fine. Jesus. I'll stay right here. For now."

"Will me saying I arranged for you to get a shower and borrow somebody's electric razor wipe that disgruntled look off your face at all?" Elliot asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Completely," he said unnecessarily, as the grin that spread over his face got all the way to lighting his eyes.

O'Hara left, satisfied. Elliot supervised Mac's limping journey to the showers. Jack walked with them that far, pleased that Mac finally left off pestering to be included in the next phase of this operation. Jack patted Mac on the back, and his expression said it was as much to assure himself that Mac was really there, was really solid as it was to offer any comfort to his injured friend. "I'll let you know what's what before I go anywhere, Mac."

0-0-0

When Mac saw Jack again, Jack thought the kid looked worse all cleaned up. But he was sitting up, talking to Elliot about something he'd read about thermodynamics as it applied to the human body as a system, and shoveling in another MRE. "You part hobbit or somethin' kid? Cause that's what second breakfast?"

"Elevenses," Mac answered around a mouthful of what he thought was supposed to be chili. "I knocked out second breakfast right after my shower."

"Which seems to have done your disposition a world of good," Jack observed. "You're downright chipper compared to earlier."

He chucked a salt packet at Jack and missed. "If somebody would have gone and gotten me some actual clothes I might make it all the way to cheerful." He gestured at the gown he was still wearing and half-seriously glared at Elliot.

"You and I both know it would have been a short trip between you dressed and you crashing the briefing," Elliot laughed.

"I wasn't looking for clothes clothes necessarily. I'd take an APFU or … hell, anything closer to not naked than this get up would be great."

"I'll see if I can drum up somebody's pt gear for your flight home before I head out," Jack said.

"Head out? Flight home?" Mac looked back and forth between them.

"You didn't fill him in?" Jack asked Elliot, running a hand over the back of his head. He'd hoped to dodge this particular bullet.

"I figured we'd blow up that bridge when we got to it," Elliot answered, looking equally uncomfortable and moving around to the other side of the bed so Jack could step closer.

"Guys? C'mon."

Jack sighed. "Patty's arranged for us to get you out of here and grab a flight home from the permanent base a couple hours from here. Elliot is going to make sure you get home in one piece. Patty's even said he can have privileges at the infirmary if that'll keep you happy with getting taken care of. Of course they want to debrief you too."

Mac's frown lined his whole face, but instead of making him look older, it highlighted his youth, made the swelling and bruises stand out even more. "And you?"

"We got some updated intel on another location that's been suspected of housing these guys for a while. Gonna head out there and see what we can smoke out, see if your friend Zwickey is there. Patty's lettin' me stay and she's made it good with the brass here because I told her walkin' away from your friend again wasn't an option and I told her that I knew you'd trust me to get the job done for you since you're not up to it. I wasn't wrong was I? You do trust me, right?"

That was so unfair. But he didn't say so. Jack probably wasn't trying to be manipulative anyway. More the man was still worried out of his head and really wanted Mac to do what everyone was telling him for a minute and also really wanted to take care of business so Mac felt like he could do that. He met the older man's eyes. "Of course I trust you, Jack. With my life, man."

Jack gave him a nod and a smile. "Good. I'll take care of everything. If I find some clothes when I gear up, I'll send somebody along with 'em. And I'll call in to the infirmary as soon as we're back. Okay?"

Mac nodded and extended a hand to shake Jack's. "Good luck, man."

The hand shake morphed into a fist bump. "When you're this pretty you don't need luck," Jack joked. "You stay put, ya hear? I mean it, now."

"You bet, Sarge," Mac smirked with a sarcastic sketched salute.

Elliot moved to leave with Jack, grinning in a way Mac wasn't sure he liked. "I'm gonna go catch a nap for a bit, Mac. Holler if you need anything. Wells will check on you while I'm in the rack."

Mac shrugged, pushing aside the remnants of the bulk of the MRE in favor of the tootsie rolls that had come with this one.

When Elliot and Jack got a few steps down the hall, Jack stopped and gave Elliot a very severe look. "You really think it's a good idea to leave him alone in there and just go get your beauty sleep, do you?"

Elliot chuckled. "Wouldn't be if I didn't hit that IV he hasn't convinced anyone he doesn't need yet with some of the sedatives that mostly work for him. He needs the rest and he isn't going to get it knowing you're going out on an op. Not without help anyway. It'll keep him where we want him at least until our transport's ready in a couple hours."

"You are one sneaky bastard. I like the hell out of you, Mathers. Even if you are kinda creepy."

Elliot just laughed again. "Kid's already having a hell of a week, Dalton, so do him a favor and stay alive out there, huh?"

"Bet on Jack. I keep tellin' y'all, I'm a good risk."

They parted company then, Jack for the armory and Elliot for a bunk. They were both so confident in their plans, so certain they'd worked things out well for Mac, that neither of them had noticed him slip from his room and head in the opposite direction, nor did anyone see Mac pick the lock on more than one locker until he found clothes and boots that mostly fit. Certainly no one saw him climb into the back of one of the team's transports where the sedative Elliot had given him finally tool hold of him and he fell asleep lying across someone's duffle.

It was full dark again when Mac opened his eyes to the rush of cool night air from opening the compartment and Jack Dalton's loud, irritated voice.

"Son of a bitch!"


	36. Chapter 36

Mac startled awake at the cool rush of air and sharp familiar voice. His brain felt like it was wrapped in gauze or packed in cotton. Then he realized there was someone watching him. When he saw the expression that belonged to the eyes in question, it woke him up in a hurry.

He looked up into the face of fury itself. Good Ole Jack had taken a vacation and been replaced by one seriously pissed off Delta Dalton. _Shit_.

"What the hell are you doin' here? I know Elliot took steps to keep your ass in that bed. What'd ya do, pull a Houdini to get by 'im?"

The words themselves were almost what you'd expect from good natured teasing, but the tone was harsh, livid. Jack was clenching and unclenching his fists. Mac couldn't see him doing it in the low light, but he knew the slight almost squeak of the leather of Jack's wrist cuff.

"Jack, I can explain," Mac said, sounding entirely reasonable. Reasonable was the only way to go when Jack was ready to Hulk out. He'd just lay out his thinking as calmly as possible and he was sure Jack would understand. Then he sat up and had to bite back a cry of pain.

Through clenched teeth of his own, Jack said, "Go ahead. Explain."

Mac edged his way out of the transport, moving more carefully. He was amazed no one had seen him sooner. He'd meant to hide himself better, to make a plan while they were in their way. He'd planned to reveal his presence as soon as they were out of reasonable range of just booting him out of the truck. But he'd gotten so sleepy, his limbs had felt so heavy, he'd laid down to collect himself, and the next thing he knew he was getting this burning dead-eye stare from Jack.

He figured he could tag the blame for his nap squarely on Dr. Mathers. He thought maybe he was not speaking to Elliot right now. Jack. had known about it though; he'd definitely known. He was probably a co-conspirator. And he _had_ to talk to Jack. Wanting to make his case at eye level, or at least close to it, Mac prepared to get out and on his feet.

He shifted to ease himself onto the ground and accidentally let his bad arm take the weight. The stabbing pain in his shoulder took his breath away and he almost let his legs go out from under him as his vision swam.

He was pretty sure he would've wiped out, but Jack grabbed his elbow and eased him down on the bumper of the truck. His hands were gentle but his voice hadn't lost any of its tight anger.

"Yeah, kid, explain how you thought gettin outta bed was a good idea, shape you're in. How stealing clothes from somebody who's twice your size was a good idea. How great it feels to cram those scraped up feet of yours into boots…" Jack glanced at Mac's feet, " two sizes too small. Bet that feels awesome where you stepped on that glass, huh, kid?"

Mac was waking up more fully and regaining his wits a bit. "Jack, it's fine. I need …"

Jack's words bulldozed right over his. "About a week in a hospital? Good; we're agreed. I'll get Grady to take one of these trucks and drive your ass back to base and Elliot can get you home, just like we talked about."

"No, Jack … Look, Zwickey is …"

Mac went on to explain how he'd seen Zwickey and what had transpired. The kid clearly didn't recall telling him this back at base. To be fair, he'd been pretty medicated and he had a concussion. Jack realized suddenly that those things may have factored into this particular bad decision. It cooled his anger, made him listen more carefully.

Jack heard two things in Mac's protests and explanations. One was sheer stubbornness. Mac had gotten an idea in his head and he'd by god hang onto it until somebody beat it out of him. That Jack was used to. But the other was a sort of desperation. That he'd never encountered in Mac before. Not once. Not like this.

"You told me about Zwickey already, kid." His voice had softened a little. Mac took the opening.

"I've told people before. For years. And he's still here, still being …"

Mac stopped. He had to. Being on the verge of saying what he knew the other man's life had been like for the last five years put what Mac had been through over the last week or so on a brief upsetting loop in his head. He blinked hard, swallowed, then met Jack's eyes again.

"I need to see this through," he said firmly, finally finishing his thought from before. "I need to make sure he really gets home. I shouldn't have let them shut me up five years ago and I can't let you shut me up now."

Jack's eyes flashed at that. "I'm not tryin' to shut you up, I'm tryin' to do my job, and I can't do that if I'm worried about you gettin' your skinny ass killed." That re-made up his mind. "Grady!" he called out to the most junior member of the team, "Our asset here needs a ride back to base!"

Mac stood, forcing himself not to waiver, and squared his shoulders, letting one foot drop back in an unmistakable 'I'm ready for anything you might throw at me' posture. "You can hit me if you want, if it'll make you feel better, but nobody is driving me anywhere unless Zwickey is sharing the transport."

For a split second Mac really did think Jack was going to hit him. An image of himself, a weird third person movie perspective, tied to a chair with coarse ropes, and O'Neil's brother-in-law Zahir standing over him, fist clenched around an iron weight, flitted through his brain.

Afterward, he was never sure but, he thought he might have flinched, and Jack just threw his hands up in the air and stomped away several steps. "God damnit, Mac!"

"Jack, I …"

Jack spun back around and he still looked pretty pissed off, but he also looked pained, almost scared. The expression closed Mac's mouth abruptly. Jack stepped closer and lowered his voice. "Have a seat."

The other guys in the group busied themselves with other things, all necessary for their mission, but it was also pretty clearly to give the two of them some semblance of privacy.

Mac hesitated. Jack sat down on the rear bumper and looked up expectantly, no longer looking quite so angry, but it was clearly an effort. "What're you waitin' for, Carl's Junior, an engraved invitation?"

 _Uh Oh_ , that was definitely the come listen to the wisdom of your Overwatch tone.

Mac glanced around warily, feeling like maybe he was being lured in by a seemingly friendly gesture so he was easier to yell at or make miserable some other way. _Stop it, Jack isn't like that_ , he snapped at himself, and took a step. _He was when you met him_ , a voice that was as insidious as it was familiar spoke up quietly from the back of his mind.

 _Screw you,_ Mac thought at the voice. You don't get to live in my head. _You stopped getting to have an opinion when I was ten. He knows me. He isn't like that. He's not you._

Mac took another step, sucking in his breath quietly through his teeth as he lowered himself back down onto the bumper next to Jack. The nap in the back of the truck had stiffened him up and he hurt all over. Or they'd been giving him pain meds they hadn't mentioned anymore than Elliot mentioned he was planning to knock him out and they'd had time to wear off. Either way, Mac was currently hyper aware of every every cubic centimeter of his body.

"I'm fine," he asserted in response to the raised eyebrow his quiet hiss of pain had earned. The eyebrow climbed higher. "Alright, fine. I hurt like hell, especially my damned foot and stupid shoulder, and I'm tired and still thirsty and hungry, and I'm all sweaty and I don't know if it was just hot back here with the gear or if I've got a fever."

Jack smirked. "You do realize you just stole my line, right?"

Mac shook his head. "None of that matters, Jack." He turned to face Jack more fully. "Because these guys have spent the last five years doing to Zwickey what I only had to go through for a week."

"Eleven days," Jack interrupted. "They grabbed you just about eleven days and about sixteen hours before we got you out of there. I'd just call it twelve, but I know you and numbers."

To Mac it sounded like an accusation. "I didn't get grabbed on purpose! I was at DXS trying to help!"

Jack put a hand on Mac's shoulder, "I know, kid. I know you were. And I know that's what you want to do now. But this isn't what you do. It's what I do. You shouldn't have come to DXS to save my ass and you sure as shit got no business out here. I don't honestly know what, other than maybe some Save the World Boy Scout gene, convinced you either time was a good idea but …"

"I don't just leave people hanging!" Mac said hotly. "If someone expects me to be there for them, I am."

Jack studied him for a minute. The scrutiny gave Mac the inexplicable urge to squirm like he was a kid caught doing something he shouldn't have been. Finally Jack spoke. "Yeah. Okay. Me too, kid. But you can't just bust in with us. You're in no kind of shape for it and you wouldn't know what the hell you were doing anyway. We'll clear the houses and if we find your guy," Jack paused and handed Mac a radio out of one of the pockets on his vest, "I'll call you as soon as it's safe and you can walk him to the trucks yourself. But while this raid happens, you and Grady stay here with the gear and guard our transport. Okay?"

Mac didn't like it, but he figured it was actually more than he should have expected to get out of Jack right now. He had planned on having the whole trip to talk Jack into letting him participate in this raid. If Jack had really pushed about Grady taking him back, he really couldn't have done much about it. He'd put on a good show, but he felt like if someone actually hit him, he'd probably go right out cold. Staying on his feet was an effort as it was. After a minute he nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

Jack reached down for his ankle holster. "I'm gonna leave this with you just in case," he said, using his sternest don't argue with me voice as he tried to pass Mac the compact automatic he kept as a backup piece.

Mac raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "We've been over this, Jack. Besides I'm all set." He fished his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket with a grin.

Jack's own eyebrows climbed. "Elliot gave that back to you?"

Mac's grin expanded. "Not exactly. He showed it to me, said you guys found it at DXS after I got nabbed, and said he'd give it to me back in the States if I behaved myself."

"And?"

"And I aim to misbehave," Mac quoted a favorite show of Jack's with a smirk. When Jack's face became a question, Mac shrugged. "Penny tried to get me to do theater with her a bunch in high school, but I hated talking in front of crowds, so I learned magic, like juggling, card tricks, and all that. Pickpocketing came with the magic course I mail ordered. I'm good at it."

Jack sighed, but it was with a repressed chuckle. "Of course you are." Jack paused. He knew this was a hot button for Mac and someday he'd find out why, but for now, he decided not to push. "Do me a favor though, and take the gun. Use it to knock somebody out if you hafta, build a bomb, melt it down and make a new knife, I don't care. I'll feel better if you have it."

Mac hesitated, looked almost like he would capitulate, then just shook his head again and put on a teasing smile Jack could see flash white in the dimness. "Nah, I wouldn't want you to think I was under the impression you couldn't handle the firearms end of things."

Jack looked like he wanted to clobber him. He could tell even in the mostly dark. But Jack let out one of his loudest, most put upon sighs, and reholstered his weapon. "Stubborn little shit."

"So I've been downgraded from world's greatest magician escape artist, huh?"

Jack made a sound that might have been an actual growl. There was a long pause. "Grady, you good?"

"Yessir," came a drawl very similar to Jack's from around the other side of the vehicle.

Jack stepped closer to Mac, uncomfortably close even, purposely impinging on his personal space. "How 'bout you, _Houdini_?" He emphasized the apparent new nickname. "You good?"

Mac sighed. Jack jumped on the lack of immediate reply.

"You damn well better be. You better keep your ass right here by these vehicles unless I tell you to move. You sit right here."

He started walking away toward the group of other guys doing last minute checks of each other's gear. He called back over his shoulder, "Stay!"

"Woof," Mac retorted, but kept it quiet so Jack wouldn't hear it. He was saying something to Grady anyway, so Mac probably didn't have much to worry about.

He felt like he sat on that bumper in the dark forever. And part of him felt like Jack had left him here, bereft of light or purpose, just so he'd get to notice exactly how beat up he felt, so he'd notice the burning pull just breathing caused in his injured shoulder. Objectively he knew blaming Jack for what his brain was doing to him was ridiculous, but it still didn't stop that feeling.

At the first sounds of gunfire coming from the short distance away from the trucks, Mac was on his feet. He taken about three steps before a hand caught the loose sleeve of his pilfered ACUs. "Hold on there, sir. Dalton said you hafta stay here."

Mac shook his sleeve loose from Grady's grasp. "Contrary to his beliefs and apparently yours, he not in charge of me. But he is a friend. I can't just sit here knowing he might need help. Besides what do you care?" he asked.

Grady positioned himself between Mac and the direction he'd tried to head. "I think I like bein' on his good side, sir."

"What do you know about his bad side?" Mac challenged, now trying to decide if he could get around Grady, due to the sound of a grenade going off.

Grady adjusted his position, regarding Mac with an expression Mac couldn't quite read. "Dalton said if I ever wanted to have kids, I'd keep the blond kid alive. So that's my mission, sir. Keep you alive. My fiancé wouldn't appreciate me pissing of your bodyguard."

Mac's eyes narrowed. "He's not my bodyguard."

"Have you told him that, sir?"

Mac sighed and sat back down.

An explosion ripped through the dark.

The sounds of action stopped and the world went eerily quiet

Grady stepped away with his radio.

Mac heard, "Casualty report?" Then, a moment later. "Fatalities?"

At that, Mac took off at a run in the direction of the small group of houses at the base Of a steep hill. If Grady called to him he didn't hear it. His only thought was that if anything had happened to Jack, he'd never forgive himself.


	37. Chapter 37

He found Zwickey first.

He felt like he should have been more relieved Z was alive. After all, he'd been losing sleep over his fate for the last five years and had made Jack angrier than he'd ever seen him by slipping out of the field hospital to come here and help rescue him.

He was too preoccupied for relief.

What Mac really wanted was to find Jack.

He'd had a few minutes where he was busy getting pressure on a penetrating leg wound and reassuring Z that help was in the way. But once he'd handed Zwickey off to the medic, who was a little worse for wear himself, Mac had a moment of sinking I've-swallowed-an-ice-block kind of unproductive certainty that his obsession had gotten Jack killed.

Jack had been so worried about Mac that Mac was afraid he hadn't been paying complete attention to what he was doing himself. Jack could be like that when he got into protective Overwatch mode. Mac's worry increased as he went from place to place and found nothing but the team they'd come in with rounding up the living or photographing the dead for comparison with watchlists.

The last place to look was the smoking wreckage of a barn where, much like the camp where Mac had been captive, it appeared the Mazari's stash of explosives must have been stored.

The closer he got the more sure he was that no one could possibly be alive in the stinking, burning, smoldering shell of a structure. It was pretty dark inside with the smoke and the dim red light of the fire. Then as flames caught some sort of accelerant and flared up a brighter yellow orange, Mac saw an unmoving black clad leg sticking out from under some boards.

"Oh, no, no, no, no," Mac breathed, not even realizing he'd spoken aloud. "Please don't be dead, Jack."

A second later he was on ground next to Jack, on his knees in the hot ash, moving debris off the motionless man. "Jack, c'mon pal, don't do this," he pleaded softly, reaching out and putting a hand on Jack's chest.

At first he didn't feel any movement and the stillness made him feel sick. Jack was never not moving. He'd tease Mac for his fidgety restlessness but didn't seem to notice that he was always moving himself. Then there was a soft sound of complaint and Jack shifted underneath his hovering hands.

"Jack?" His relief made his voice sound strained. "C'mon buddy we gotta get you outta here." Mac shook Jack's shoulder gently. "Jack … Jack!"

Jack's eyes fluttered open. He groaned, then processed who was looking down at him. "What part of _stay at the truck_ confused you, kid?"

"The part where you were getting yourself blown up without your bomb nerd," Mac said trying to sound just light and teasing. "Now that you've got him, he can tell you there's other stuff that could still go up in here. We need to get you out of here, pal."

Jack's ears were ringing and his head, Hell, his everything, hurt. And part of his brain knew he was more than just a little knocked around. That part stalled for a minute. "My bomb nerd shouldn't be here."

"Don't start. I don't need an Overwatch right now. I need to get you out of here."

"I didn't find your buddy, Mac. I'm sorry," Jack said, more to distract Mac from his gritted-teeth pained expression than anything else.

Fortunately for Jack, it was too dim and he was too dirty for Mac to tell. Mac just shifted to help Jack up. "Don't worry, pal, I found him. He's with the medic. Here. Let's get you up."

"Alright, let's do it," Jack said with resignation. Then as he tried to get up, his body announced the something more that he'd sensed before, and he nearly screamed. He let go of Mac who then struggled to keep him from just crumpling to the floor.

"Jack!" Mac practically shouted.

For at least a full minute Jack just clutched his leg with both hands, panting. Finally he managed to speak. "Fuck," was all he could come up with though.

"Talk to me, Jack."

It took a couple seconds of careful breathing but he finally managed, "Leg."

Mac mumbled, "Yeah I got that far on my own," to himself as he moved to try to get a look at the leg. "Lemme see," he demanded as he tried to push Jack's hands away.

"Don't, man. Don't touch it, please."

"I won't," he lied smoothly, the way everyone lies in those situations. "Just let me see what we're dealing with."

Jack knew the lie. He'd spoken it countless times. He'd used it on Mac at least twice. But he also knew the necessity of it, the lie and what it would accomplish. So despite wanting to call Mac out for having a full on pants on fire moment, he made himself take his hands away.

Mac was gentle, Jack had to give him that. But when Mac started to try and push his pant leg out of the way, Jack still swore and broke out in a cold sweat. Mac could see the shine of it on his friend's face even here in this dim flickering hellhole.

Mac grimaced at the sticky wetness on his hands. "You're bleeding."

"I just got blown up. I imagine I am a bit."

"You know what I mean. Jackass," Mac grumbled. Once again a memory oh Harry saved the day. _A tool for every situation … Just take a deep breath._ As he took his pocket knife out it seemed to settle something in his brain and improve his reasoning. He finally thought to shout for the medic.

"Jackass? That's not a new nickname is it, kid?"

"Depends on how hard a time you give the medic," Mac said with a reasonably sincere grin. His expression changed when he got Jack's pant leg cut away. "Oh Jack, this is …" He paused then said, "bad, man. I can see some bone sticking out on your shin and …" Mac couldn't finish the sentence.

He thought he might be sick. He'd seen some bad injuries during his stint in a war zone. But this was … stuff like this was as much why he'd done poorly in biology as his desire to demonstrate to both Harry and (if the bastard ever showed back up) his father that apples could fall miles from their trees if they put their minds to it.

Jack's voice was a little shaky. "Thanks for the warning. I was about to look." He sighed. "Same damn leg I busted before. Ahhhh, Jesus, what're you doin'?" Jack gasped.

"Stabilizing the break. Sorry. I would have warned you but I'm too tired to argue and the fire's almost to those crates in the back."

"And then _kaboom_?"

"Pretty likely, yeah."

"Okay," Jack said, breathing for a moment like a boxer preparing to go back into the ring knowing he's about to get his ass kicked. "Let's get out of here."

The second time he went down, he did scream; no other word for it.

Panic flashed in Mac's eyes as he took in the fire, the crates, Jack's clear inability to support any weight on that leg. He didn't think he could carry Jack on a good day, and today was not his best day ever. Still, the medic hadn't come when he'd shouted, so it looked like they were on their own.

"I'm sorry about this, man. It's bound to hurt, " Mac offered as a warning before he just hauled Jack up and got as close to throwing the larger man over his shoulder as he could.

"Gaaahhhh," Jack groaned. "Put me down, dude, no way you can get us both out of here. Get out and go get somebody. If you don't make it back before … it'll be my own damn fault for comin' in here."

Mac grunted with the effort of trying to carry Jack. "No way. What is it you always say … if you go kaboom I go kaboom."

Mac stumbled. They both went down this time, but Mac was able to control the fall and keep the impact off Jack's bad leg. He shivered and had a second where he thought that wasn't great, but jack distracted him by once again insisting that he just go.

"No. Shut up."

He looked around frantically for a second, trying to see some way out of this. Then he swore. Jack wondered why until he saw Mac take out the radio he'd given given him a little bit ago out of one of his pockets and call for help.

They relaxed for a second, knowing help was on the way, but then one of the boxes exploded. It wasn't a big explosion and although it was loud it didn't really hurt them more other than tossing some hot debris their way. But when another of the crates started making a whistling sound and smoking, Mac apologized but got behind Jack, grabbed him under the arms, and dragged him free of the building.

Jack passed out before they were clear of the building. He knew he had, because one minute he was in agony, definitely calling that poor skinny bomb nerd all kinds of names that would definitely make his nana blush, or get her to threaten to cut a switch, and the next he was outside on the cool dusty ground. He could hear Mac's voice before he opened his eyes to verify that kid made it out too.

"I could see bone," was the first thing Jack heard.

"I'm not gonna take off the splint if I can help it then. Looks like you did a good job."

"I'm afraid I made it too tight."

"It's good, kid," Jack managed, forcing his eyes open.

"Hey, there, Dalton," Thompson, the medic, said. "Gonna make you hate me for a second."

He pulled Jack's boot free and Jack shouted something insulting but he couldn't remember what he'd said later.

The medic made him feel a little better by patting his leg a second later. "That was the worst of it, man. Pulse is good in your ankle. I can leave you wrapped for now and get you some pain relief."

Jack had a split second where he very nearly argued about getting jabbed with the morphine, but when he shifted position slightly his leg felt like it had caught fire. Not feeling that again for a while seemed like a better idea than arguing.

He drew the line at not arguing about a freaking IV though. He started laying out reasons it was absolutely unnecessary at least at the moment, Then Mac thoroughly pissed him off by saying, "That's it; Jackass is officially your nickname now. Jackass."

Jack's head snapped back in Mac's direction so he could glare at him. His pupils were already constricted down to what looked like pinpoints to Mac. Some of that was the lights from the vehicles, but most of it was probably the pain killer.

"You little shit, you don't get to give me mean nicknames because I argue with a medic. All you do is argue with medics and … OW!"

"You're welcome," Mac said to the medic with a smirk. "He didn't hurt you, ya big baby," Mac teased.

"When did you get so mean?"

"Probably around when you and Elliot decided it was okay to dope me without asking so you could come here and try getting killed without me."

"Guess that's fair," Jack conceded. "What's that noise?"

"Evac," Mac answered before the medic could. "Team took a couple heavy hits and you've got a bad fracture. So they're getting us a flight to the base hospital down south."

Jack closed his eyes. "That's probably good."

He knew he must have drifted a bit. Next thing he was sure of was that they were in a helicopter. He wouldn't have known for certain, but from where he was laying he could see Mac's profile and the particular set of his shoulders, the clenching of his jaw, and his determined studying of his hands said they were in the air.

Mac saw him watching and moved to sit next to him. "Hey, pal. How's the leg?"

"Don't hurt much right now, I guess. How bout you? How you doin'?"

"I'm fine. I mean I'm like 'Mac in a helicopter' fine, but on balance that's not awful."

"You look like shit."

"Says the guy on the stretcher. I'm fine, Jack."

Jack managed a convincingly threatening stare although it was rendered much less effective by his inability to really focus and and overwhelming sleepiness that characterized aggressive pain management.

Wanting to make Jack feel better about both of their circumstances, he offered, "Elliot's already at the base, making sure Thornton knows what's up, getting things in place to get us all back stateside, make sure you get fixed up, all that stuff."

Jack wanted to say something else but he couldn't quite put together what that might be. Drugged to the gills, he grinned to himself. And while he didn't like the way Mac looked at the moment, he knew if the doc was already waiting on them at the hospital, Mac would be okay.

 _Damn it._ There was definitely something he needed to tell Mac. But he dozed off again before he remembered what.

When the got to the hospital it was determined pretty quickly that Jack was going to need a little bit of surgery to set and close up his leg. Mac followed Jack as far as they'd let him, then he checked on the status of the team that had raided the camp. Finally, he checked on Zwickey. He didn't go see him, didn't want to get in the way, but he was reassured that he could recover physically just based on what he overheard.

Mac wandered around aimlessly for a while, having to assure several people in scrubs that the blood all over him wasn't his. He was still hungry and thirsty, but he was also too tired to care to find where he could get food and water.

He found himself sitting in a plastic chair in what he supposed you could call a waiting room. He didn't remember getting there or sitting down. But he was pretty grateful to be sitting. His head hurt and everything sounded slightly under water. He scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair.

He gasped and pressed his hand to his shoulder. He knew from the warmth of the sticky blood he found there that Jack wasn't the only one who'd bled. Realizing that he was bleeding seemed to bring a flood of memories from his time as a captive boiling to the surface, and it set the wound throbbing again.

He sat staring at his feet, breathing deeply for a couple of minutes, trying to get on top of the pain enough to go into the nearby bathroom so he could decide how bad it was and figure out whether or not he could get away with ignoring it.

He realized after a minute or two that there were feet other than his own in his field of view. He blinked slowly a couple of times. He looked up, blinking some more from the overhead light. "Elliot!"

Mac's surprised exclamation was enough to elicit a smirk. "Hey, Mac."

He stepped back. He been about to shake the kid awake when he looked up in surprise. He'd been nearly tipping over in his seat.

"Jack's doing well. Break isn't really all that bad. Just close to the surface. Which is good news since it means we'll be able to head stateside in the morning if it's safe to fly out."

Mac murmured some agreement, nodding slowly.

"Hey, you know the thing you did where you ignored everything any of us said to you and snuck out of bed and jailbroke yourself and followed Dalton?" He waited for Mac to glare at him and then squint because the expression hurt his head. "You still feel like that was a good idea?"

Mac rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair crossing his arms. He frowned at the shooting pain the motion caused in his shoulder. He gave an embarrassed little smile and shook his head. "Probably not my best one, no. I feel pretty lousy, which you already knew by the way you were looking at me."

Elliot eyed him suspiciously. "Pretty lousy? In Mac speak does that mean you're in agonizing pain, or bleeding out, or any of the other catastrophes the must be outside of your definition of fine?"

Mac chuckled and shook his head. "I am not that bad."

"If I'll pretend that's true will that mean you're going to accept my idea that you can go crawl into one of the nice beds here for the night since you'd definitely still be in a somewhere if you hadn't given me the slip."

"Really Elliot, I'm okay. I think maybe it'd be good to rebandage my shoulder but other than that …"

"Stand up."

"Huh?"

"You're all good? Great. If that's true, we can go get a coffee and wait around for Dalton to get out of surgery. Shouldn't be long. Once we find out when Jack can be moved so we can arrange to fly out we can find a bunk somewhere."

He tilted his chin toward the doorway across the room. Mac finally noticed the little sign directing people to the Mess. Still he looked up at Elliot, like he wasn't sure what he was suggesting. "I'm not really feeling coffee."

Elliot's friendly smile became a knowing one. "We'll how about some water? You look thirsty, Mac."

Mac shrugged. He was. He just didn't know if he was more thirsty than he was tired and sore.

"Mac, c'mon. Keep me company at least."

"Why won't you just let it go?" he grumped.

"Mostly because I want to see you stand up," he answered honestly. "So you can see that I'm right about the sagacity of letting me get you a bed."

"You're wrong." Mac huffed with irritation and immediately got to his feet just to show Elliot how ridiculous it was to still be fussing over him. He'd been out of bed for hour and participated in the extraction and been a help to the team.

The minute he drew himself up to his full height, Mac knew he'd made a mistake. He dropped back down into the chair with a heavy sort of overbalanced thump. Elliot was right next to him almost immediately. Mac mumbled something.

"What was the, Mac?" Elliot asked, prompting him to lift his head.

"I said maybe you're not wrong?"

"Yeah?"

Mac nodded, sighing a defeated sort of sound. "Yeah."


	38. Chapter 38

Jack woke several times in the night as it approached time for more pain medication. It wasn't the worst pain he'd ever been in. In fact, compared to the back injury of a few months ago, this was nothing. And the staff was being extremely attentive, so he never had to wait long.

It was amazing the difference in how you got treated when people thought you were some kind of government VIP as opposed to just some grunt. But what amazed him even more was his silently sleeping roommate.

Elliot had somehow convinced Mac that back in a bed, on fluids, and monitored was where he belonged. He'd grinned last night when he told Jack how agreeable the kid had been about it too. "Must feel as bad as he looks, because he only argued the fine points for about twenty minutes."

Knowing Mac was back to getting taken care of made it easier for Jack to sleep, even though he was hurting. When Jack woke for the day just after sunrise, he was a little more concerned. Mac was still out like a light. The bright morning sun, the white sheets, the while gown, all conspired to make Mac's bruises look deep and painful. They also pointed out just how pale the kid was.

Jack had already had a request for coffee shot down by a nurse telling him it was too early and to go back to sleep. Since that wasn't likely to happen, Jack sat going over recent events in his head, while looking guiltily at the banged up young man sleeping a few feet away.

Elliot came in a few minutes later and started laughing at the expression on Jack's face. "Trust me Dalton, he doesn't look any worse than you."

"That's not very nice. Especially comin' from somebody who was not denied his morning caffeine." Jack smiled and shook his head. "It's a little early for insults against the uncaffeinated, ain't it?"

"I suppose it is. They let you get any sleep?"

"Yeah, some. And I don't think Mac so much as rolled over all night even with people in and out a bunch. He was resting so well they just let him be."

"He nearly passed out on me last night." Jack frowned. "They had him for almost two weeks, Jack. He was beaten, starved, kept on inhumane water rations, with the exception of what they saw to it made its way into his lungs. Fever of a hundred two last night when I finally got him settled in here to wait for you. I'm a little surprised he racked out before he laid eyes on you, but only a little. He's a wreck."

Although Elliot was standing right next to him, talking at full volume, Mac hadn't stirred. Jack frowned. "Did they dope him? I've never seen the kid sleep like this."

"Nothing other than some non-narcotic pain meds and something for the fever and infection. This is just what pushing past your limits looks like. That's all. He kept going long after he should have just given in and gone to ground to heal up. He finally just crashed."

Jack nodded. "I guess we've all been there. Hopefully he learned his lesson this time and gets a little less likely to play superhero."

"Have you learned yours yet?" Elliot laughed.

"Ah, I'm gettin' there, Doc."

"Mmmmmm," Mac grumbled, and pulled the pillow over his face.

Jack grinned at the grumpy sound from the younger man. Between the two of them, Mac was usually the morning person, up with the sun, ready to Energizer Bunny his way up through the Hollywood hills, and tease Jack for just sitting around staring blearily into his coffee.

"Mornin', kid. How ya feelin'?" Jack asked.

"Shhhh, quiet," came out muffled by the pillow.

"Headache?" Elliot asked.

"Mmmm."

"I was going to let you guys in on the plan for getting back to LA as soon as you were up."

"Mmmmm."

"And offer to get you some clothes," Elliot added.

The covers were thrown back and the pillow shoved aside. "Real clothes?" Mac asked, wide awake and half swinging his feet over the edge of the bed.

Elliot laughed. "I was thinking more like some sweats, but maybe I should walk back that offer and stick to getting you a bathrobe. Probably shouldn't do anything that might encourage another episode of you wandering off. You are too sneaky for your own good already."

Mac's blue eyes were wide and innocent. "What do you mean? I haven't tried wandering off here."

Elliot leaned against the wall by the foot of Mac's bed. He raised his eyebrows and gave Mac a knowing look. The way the young man's eyes widened just a little let Elliot know he was right. Mac gave a slight head shake and a pleading look that said, "Please don't say it. Not in front of Jack."

So of course Elliot did.

"You were pretending to be asleep so the staff would leave you alone."

Mac's face flushed and his expression became the picture of indignant. "That's ridiculous! I was exhausted. I hadn't actually slept in … I don't know how long other than that nap in the back of the truck. I was just really tired."

"Definitely pretending. At least this morning, but probably longer."

"I don't know what would make you say that," Mac said with an indifferent shrug. He made a face that said he'd forgotten shrugging was going to hurt, then casually added. "But you also said clothes and plan. I like both those things. So, let's just talk about that."

"I know what made him say it," Jack chimed in. "Nobody sleeps that deep. 'Specially not you. And you looked comatose until Elliot said clothes. Then you shot up all bright eyed and bushy tailed."

"You guys woke me up!" Mac insisted.

Jack legitimately looked like he wanted to believe him. "For real?"

Mac's expression was so sincere it almost made Elliot laugh. "Yeah, for real. I'm still pretty beat. I should have just stayed where you guys left me yesterday, I guess."

Just the right note of contriteness, too. Damn, this kid was good. Elliot was about to call bullshit, just for fun. Mac apparently saw the look in his eye because he very smoothly moved the conversation on to something to distract Jack's interest.

"So, back to LA? This morning?" Mac asked pointedly.

"Yeah, that'd be great," Jack agreed.

Elliot didn't miss Mac's slight smirk but it was gone almost before it registered. He let it go. Mac was going to be Mac, and as far as he could tell from what Miles had shared, not much was likely to change about him. It was as likable and endearing as it was vexing. "Yes, back to LA. This morning. We'll get going in an hour or so."

Mac beamed and, split lip and all, it was a genuinely sunny expression. "Awesome, so how about the aforementioned sweats?"

"I thought I took back that offer."

"Yeah, but you didn't mean it."

Elliot had to admire the kid's tenacity. But he was a fair reminder of why Elliot preferred pathology. Dead people don't argue. "Alright. I'll go find you both something a little more dignified for the flight home."

"Now you're talkin'," Jack said, sharing a look of relief with Mac.

"Your Director Thornton is sending some of her medical folks to look after you on the flight home. Apparently I've earned a break."

"Aw, man," Jack groused.

Mac just shrugged. "Bring me real clothes and I can put up with anything you say between here and LA."

0-0-0

They weren't even in the air yet when Mac was out cold on one of the couches on the luxurious jet Thornton had sent for them. Jack wished he was more tired because he was already more than half annoyed with the staff Thornton had sent along, if only because they'd informed him that the director had already ordered the two of them to the infirmary once they landed.

When the little blond pixie of a nurse who Mac referred to as Demon Tinkerbell, and Jack thought of now as Tink, finally stepped away for a few minutes, Jack studied Mac. He said quietly, "You _are_ faking so they'll leave you alone."

No change registered in Mac's expression, and his lips moved almost imperceptibly, "Yeah, and it works great. You should try it."

"I _should_ rat you out."

"She'll come back and bother you too, the second you open your mouth."

"That's a good point."

"So … go for it," Mac whispered.

It took two more rounds of being irritated by DXS's medical staff for Jack to succumb to the temptation. But when he finally did, he had to concede its advantages.

"Dude, this is perfect." Mac didn't answer. "Dude, yo Mac, this works great."

When Mac didn't answer the second time, Jack cracked an eye open. The slight drool that went with Mac's slack features this time around said that all the pretending had become real sleep once again.

A good idea was a good idea. Jack closed his eyes and was snoring for real in less than ten minutes.

0-0-0

Jack almost felt bad as he made his way to the parking garage. He was slightly hindered by his crutches, but only slightly. He'd been on crutches a bunch of times. He had a pocket full of prescription bottles for pain and to prevent infection, but all things being equal, he wasn't badly off.

Thornton had been rather insistent that he stay the night after they arrived. One of the nurses he'd been flirting with for a while was on the night shift and she was particularly attentive. Not that she bought the whole pretending to sleep thing. Jack hadn't minded all that much.

Mac on the other hand had been grumpy as hell. It started the minute Elliot went home and let the doctor on duty at DXS to take over and the new guy insisted Mac belonged back on an IV. This morning, Foster was on duty. And no one thought he was okay to go home. Poor kid.

At least Patty had taken care of a cover story for Mac's friends. As far as Bozer knew, Mac had gone to a car show in Boston for Ainsley's and was busy working and visiting with college friends. An email a day seemed to be keeping Boze happy.

Mac had been anything but happy when Jack had left. Between Foster's usual power tripping, Thornton suggesting the company shrink "after what he'd been through", and Mac's general dislike for the situation he was in, Mac was getting short tempered. He'd more or less kicked everyone out of his room when Jack was leaving, snapping that he was going to get some sleep.

Jack planned to return later with some dvds or puzzle books or something. It seemed likely Mac would be expected to hang around for a couple of days. Between his injuries, the conditions he'd been held in, and how he'd been injured, there was probably an annoying amount of medical and psychological intervention between Mac and freedom. Patty had been pretty clear about that; even putting off the debrief until Mac was discharged. Tuesday at the earliest, she's said.

Jack got off the elevator and started his lumbering trek across the garage to his car. He'd forgone real pain relief this morning so he could drive. He was happy the GTO was a column shift because otherwise he'd have had to leave it in the parking garage.

He leaned against the car and fumbled with his keys, swearing loudly when he dropped them. He was maneuvering to lean down and pick them up, when a set of sneaker clad feet appeared in his field of view and a hand with bruised scraped knuckles scooped the keys off the floor.

"Lemme get those for you, pal."

Jack stood up straight, his most disapproving expression already on his face even before he met Mac's eyes. "I thought you were supposed to stay in bed."

"Meh," Mac shrugged. "Foster didn't ask nicely. So I decided to ignore him."

Jack's eyebrows climbed, "Thornton …"

"Didn't ask nicely either."

"She ordered you to …"

"I don't work here. Remember?" Mac grinned. "So let's get out of here. I'll drive."

Jack didn't move from where he was leaning next to the driver's side. "She's gonna send security down here after you, betcha fifty bucks."

"Betcha fifty bucks they don't know I'm gone till dinner." Mac smirked and gave a playful double raise of his eyebrows.

Jack just got out of Mac's way and hobbled around to the passenger seat. "Did you just pull another Houdini and escape the DXS infirmary?"

Mac laughed and got in. "Yeah, but for my next trick, I'll need a volunteer."

Jack laughed too and Mac started to maneuver the car out of the garage. "Oh really? You wanna saw me in half or somethin', do ya, brother?"

Mac adjusted the visor as they pulled up to the exit. Jack realized it blocked the camera from fully seeing the driver's face. Sneaky little shit. The garage attendant eyed them both suspiciously, but didn't stop them.

"No sawing. I just need a place to disappear for a night or two. If I go home looking like this Bozer will freak."

"Alright, kid. You can crash with me again. Even though you still belong in the …"

"Nope. Don't start."

"Start what?"

"That overprotective thing you do."

"Mac, I never …"

"Right," Mac interrupted. "Look, just let me focus on driving. Traffic sucks."

That was fine with Jack. He had some thinking to do. Mac needed a talking to, but he was going to have to handle it carefully.

Kid was defensive and kind of prickly.

No surprise after what O'Neill and his people had put him through. But he needed to stop and think before he got himself killed. Jack needed to get him to see that. But he'd been trying for years now. This time he had to get the kid to listen.

He just wasn't sure how.


	39. Chapter 39

It took longer than Jack thought it would.

The first night, as Mac predicted, DXS infirmary staff noticed his absence around dinner time. First they had to contend with phone calls. Then Thornton tried sending one of the DXS medics out to Jack's to just stay and 'monitor both of you'. Mac was damn near furious Thornton would push like that. He'd left a very strident voicemail on the subject after the medic wisely left without arguing.

Thornton herself had come by after getting the message. She'd given Mac the 'You did something truly heroic now let us treat you that way' almost motherly speech that was both out of character and clearly genuine. She even managed not to sound irritated with him that he'd just kind of freelanced the whole thing regardless of what Jack or Elliot or anyone else had said to him.

That encounter had ended late, with Mac promising he'd stop in at the infirmary if he felt like he needed to, and would definitely be available for the debrief whenever she wanted to schedule it. He'd told his part time boss he needed a few weeks off. Thornton asked what reason he'd given and asked how he'd explained his sudden unannounced absence. Mac smirked. "I told him an old girlfriend was in town. It's not even a lie. My friend Penny lives about ten miles from my place."

Thornton had looked at him in a way Jack didn't quite know how to interpret, but he thought she was impressed. Mac had moved past it quickly by asking where DXS was at in IDing the people and bodies from the second camp.

When she confirmed that O'Neill had once again escaped, Jack saw something darken Mac's features, but whatever it was the kid clamped down on it fast. He reiterated that he'd speak to anyone she wanted him to for however long they needed if he had any information that might help them get O'Neill. And whoever the bastard was working for.

He'd yawned then and apologized to Thornton, saying he was still really tired. Thornton gave him a distinctly disapproving look and said, "I imagine sneaking out of hospitals you definitely belong in is a terribly exhausting hobby. Perhaps you should try something else for recreation. Model cars? Building miniature drones, maybe?"

"Very funny, ma'am," Mac said with the appropriate subdued chuckle. "Although I imagine it gets easier with practice."

"I imagine you're right. Although I sincerely hope you won't find out," Thornton laughed softly with a small head shake.

Mac couldn't tell if it was an at him or with him laugh, so he just shrugged and added, "I won't find out tonight anyway. I'll be crashing on the couch. And it's right near the door. No sneaking necessary."

"You can have the bed," Jack tipped his chin in the direction of the bedroom. "I got the couch, kid. I'm only banged up in the one spot."

"False. Those Mazari guys kicked the hell out of you when they locked down DXS," Mac argued.

"Yeah dude, almost two weeks ago. I'm pretty well healed up. Other than the leg, I'm good. You are all freshly busted …" he stopped in his intended listing of Mac's injuries at a look from Mac. "Just take the bed."

Mac sighed, looking from Jack to Thornton and back again. "Alright. Thanks, man."

Mac headed for the bedroom. Thornton's eyes followed him, taking in the stiffly squared shoulders, the overly sure gait, the deliberation with which he shut the door. She looked at Jack. "You know him, rather well. Is he alright?"

Jack smiled a little. "You already know he ain't, just from lookin' at him. But he's safe here. That's gonna have to be enough for now, because it's all he can accept at the moment."

"This isn't new behavior."

He wasn't sure if it was a question, but he answered it anyway. "No, ma'am. Mac's … real independent," he said almost carefully. "He has a hard time accepting help … admitting weakness. Heaven forbid the kid's sick or hurt. Takes an act of Congress just to get him to slow down long enough to take a Tylenol and he'll still insist it's to make you feel better rather than admit that he's got a problem."

She nodded slowly. "While his physical condition is certainly a concern," she began.

Jack interrupted. "I let his friend Elliot know he took off outta the infirmary. He's gonna stop by tomorrow and check on him. Mac likes Elliot, so he'll probably put up with it."

"Dr. Mathers will be looking after him?" Jack nodded. "That does make me feel somewhat better." She paused. "I was talking more about his mental state, but Mathers has some experience with that too, I suppose."

Jack wondered what Thornton knew about Elliot, wondered what there was to know about him. But he felt like he needed to say something on the topic of Mac's mindset more than he needed to express his curiosity. "I think _Mac_ thinks he's okay, and he might be. He's bounced back from tough experiences before."

Thornton's face said she was familiar with Mac's history, but she didn't offer anything.

"But if he isn't okay, I'll make sure he gets there, Patty. Count on it."

She gave him a very catlike smile. "I'm Patty permanently now aren't I?"

"Director Thornton, I have no idea what you're talking about."

She laughed and got up to leave. "Call if you need anything, for either of you. Bring him in if he needs it, whether he likes it or not."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed, not saying that Mac would be the one to decide how the weekend went, short of the kid just passing out. Nothing like captivity to make you feel out of control. Mac needed some control back, and Jack was going to make sure he got it.

The following day, Jack almost thought he'd stumbled upon a start to getting the kid to open up. Mac had agreed to just rest on the couch, although it was clearly killing him to do so, but he looked up when Jack paused in what he was doing in the kitchen, leaning his crutches against the counter and sitting down on a nearby stool.

Mac was on his feet and on Jack's elbow almost instantly. "You okay, Jack?"

Jack massaged his forehead for a minute. "Yeah, yeah I'm alright. Got dizzy for a sec. That little bitty concussion I got just keeps kickin' my ass every once in awhile."

Mac frowned. "Do you need to go back to the infirmary? I can drive you," he hurried to offer.

"I think I'm okay, kid."

The frown deepened. "Are you sure? Maybe I could call Elliot. He could come over and make sure you're really all good."

Jack smiled then. "That's not a bad idea at all."

He and Elliot had tried to come up with a good reason for him to just happen by so he could check on Mac. This was perfect. And Mac himself was making the phone call, so Jack thought he couldn't even be mad about it.

That's where Jack was wrong. Elliot had come over at Mac's request to see about Jack's minor head injury. When he suggested that since he was there he have a look at Mac too, Mac's face had creased with suspicion. When they owned up to having maybe talked about Elliot keeping an eye on Mac since he was against staying in the infirmary, Mac was … well, he said irritated, but ragingly pissed off matched the fire in his eyes more accurately.

"I don't need a babysitter," he growled. "You know damned well if I need a doctor I'll call you, Elliot. You guys don't need to …" He trailed off for a moment, then looked them each in the eye in turn. "I appreciate the concern. But it's not warranted."

Elliot had assured Jack that he'd just keep stopping by until Mac either relented and let him look him over or they knew he was okay through other avenues. Jack sat on the couch next to Mac after Elliot left. They were quiet for a while. Then Jack attempted to pry up one of the edges on the lockbox of Mac's emotions. "You're always so worried about everybody else, Mac. Why's it piss you off so much when someone worries back?"

Mac frowned at him; it bordered on a glare, but clearly he was trying to keep the expression in check. His reply was stiff. "I don't know what you mean."

Jack shook his head. "Sure you do. First ya ghosted out of the field hospital to come out and save Zwickey."

"And you," Mac interrupted. "You almost got yourself blown up!"

"That's true. Very nearly did. You know who's fault it woulda been if I had? Mine."

"Jack, that's not even … Shut up."

"Because you know I'm right."

"You were on your own out there."

"Nosir, I had a whole unit of guys who knew what they were doin' out there with me and …"

"None of them was looking out for you. You'd have died in the barn."

"Now, Mac," Jack began, noting the tension in Mac's posture.

"You came for me. I was just returning the favor."

"Aw, now, listen kid …"

Mac was on his feet. "I'm gonna go grab a shower. I'm supposed to change the bandage on my shoulder anyway. Wouldn't want you tattling in me to Elliot again," he said. The smile was genuine this time, but it also told Jack that while he might be forgiven for calling the doc, the conversation was over.

Another whole day and quiet night passed, reasonably uneventfully. Mac finally admitted to feeling a little rough when Elliot came back the following day to "visit". The result was a bag full of medicine Mac should have been on all along and a fairly stern talking to from Elliot about wanting to keep Mac among the living. He liked the diversion of having a patient who backtalked. It kept his life interesting.

Mac said he'd do his best, but he'd rather not be a patient at all. Elliot laughed at him and said that he'd better stop making bonehead moves and if he was going to he'd better start listening when people told him how to heal from it because he'd be a patient a lot less if he toes the line rather than pretending things were fine.

Mac shrugged, like he thought Elliot was being unreasonable. The flush that crept into his cheeks, however, said he knew Elliot was right. Elliot took advantage of the moment of weakness and told him he'd set up with Thornton to have someone who really knew what they were doing look at his shoulder. Mac sighed, but agreed to go.

There was a lot of Die Hard, Star Wars, and Star Trek the Next Generation watched from the couch. Jack also ordered enough take out for a battalion of active troops as opposed to the two sedentary injured guys it was actually feeding. And his neighbor's kid happily ran to the store for Gatorade and ginger ale repeatedly and Jack was pretty sure Mac was finally decently hydrated. He made sure he tipped the kid well for playing gofer so he'd stay willing.

It was Sunday night when the dam finally broke.

Mac had been quiet all day. Jack asked if he felt worse, running down a list of possible symptoms Elliot had lectured him about. Mac rolled his eyes and said he was okay, not great, if admitting that made Jack feel better, but okay. He mumbled that he hadn't slept well. Jack suggested a nap and Mac immediately agreed.

Jack was actually pretty sure Mac didn't really go to sleep. He didn't try to call him on it though on the off chance that he was wrong and the kid was actually getting some rest. He got up for dinner when the pizza guy knocked, glaring at Jack for not waking him and trying to just hobble over to the door himself.

Uncharacteristically, Mac put his slice on a plate and ate with a knife and fork. Jack had known Mac long enough to know that was a tactic for just moving food around and covering the fact that he didn't really eat much.

It wasn't even full dark when Mac looked up from playing a puzzle game on his phone. "You mind if I abandon you? I'm just … I'm beat."

"You sure you don't wanna call Elliot, man? It's early and you know he won't mind."

"Nah, I'm good. Just tired. You know my sleep sucks sometimes. This is just one of those times."

Mac headed toward the bedroom.

"You take your meds?"

Even though his back was to him, Jack knew Mac rolled his eyes before he turned back. "I took my antibiotics after dinner."

"You're movin' real stiff, man. You maybe want one of the pain pills he left ya?"

Mac shook his head. "I took some Advil. I don't like the prescription stuff."

Jack frowned. "Dreams?"

Mac shrugged. "G'night, Jack."

Jack had dozed off on the couch by the time the shout and crash came from behind the closed door of his room. It should have startled him, but it didn't. He'd been waiting for something like that to happen since Mac had shown up in the parking garage and picked up his keys.

He struggled to his feet and got his crutches under him, levering himself over to the door. He didn't knock, just opened the door. It was dark, but the light from the living room was enough for Jack to see Mac sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, clutching the sheets in his fists, head hanging forward, hair obscuring his face.

"Mac?" Jack said softly.

A sniffle. A deep breath. "I think I broke your lamp," Mac nearly whispered. His voice was thick with tears he was very clearly trying unsuccessfully to keep unshed.

"That's okay, kid. I never liked the damn thing anyway."

He started over to that side of the bed to sit next to Mac. Mac got up hurriedly. "Don't! You'll hurt yourself on the shards."

Mac immediately crouched down and started picking up broken ceramic aided only by the living room light. He was no longer successful at concealing the sound of quiet weeping, but he just kept up doggedly picking up broken pieces of lamp and putting them into Jack's small plastic trash can.

Jack kept right on going until he was right in front of Mac. "See this is what I was talkin' about the other day."

Mac glanced up, then quickly back down again when he knew Jack had seen the sheen of tears on his face. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Jack leaned his crutches against the foot of the bed and carefully leaned forward, tugging on the sleeve of Mac's T-shirt until the blond stood up. "Then, I'll tell ya. Have a seat." Mac hesitated. "By which I mean get those bare feet of yours up outta that broken shit. You already got stitches in one foot. You lookin' to have a matched set?"

Mac sighed. But he also sat. "Not especially."

Jack sat down and studied Mac's profile. Mac was very determined not to look his way, was studying the backs of his still bruised hands with silent intensity.

Jack hesitated for a second, then put an arm around Mac's back, resting his hand on the kid's uninjured shoulder. "Bad dreams, bud?"

Mac shrugged. "I'm okay. Sorry I woke you … and you know … broke your stuff."

"There it is," Jack observed conversationally.

Mac cleared his throat and sniffles quietly again. "There what is?" He already sounded defensive.

"That thing with you putting everyone else in front of you and getting mad or at least upset when anyone calls you on it or tries to make you a priority." Jack squeezed Mac's shoulder gently so the kid would know it was being said with affection and not criticism.

"I don't do that!" One hand came up to absently wipe at his face.

"No training, no weapons, no back up, you went to that warehouse in LA." Mac shrugged. "Shot in the damned leg, you still hauled yourself up on that catwalk to disarm that bomb." Another shrug. "And the second I got hurt you wouldn't even let the medics touch you until you knew I was okay, and I still had to more or less guilt trip you into putting up with so much as a bandage." Mac's shoulders tensed but didn't get to a shrug this time. "You hopped right out of bed the next morning too, just to try to go bail me out with Thornton."

"You didn't deserve to be in trouble because I made a stupid mistake."

"Any more than you deserved to get shot for tryin' to help people, for not givin' up in those men you served with." Mac looked away, toward the darker part of the room. "And then you came in to DXS to help me. Thank heaven for small favors you at least got yourself some help that time, but that was all you had. No training, no weapons, and knowing they were gunnin' for you, you showed up anyway."

"I didn't know what else to do. I actually tried to get outside help first Jack, I promise you I did. Bus and Miles couldn't get anyone to help with no alarms coming from DXS. We had to come in."

"Elliot couldn't have done it without you? Cuz that's one spook I bet could get in and out of just about anywhere and not get caught."

"I … I was afraid if he just sounded the alarm and they still had you … I was afraid they'd take you hostage to get away."

"You mean like what they did to you?"

Silence.

"Speaking of, you held out from so much as giving them your middle name for over a week. Then they hurt somebody else. And you couldn't have that. But you're such a goddamn Boy Scout that even when you let 'em think they broke you, you turned around and blew up their happy little bomb factory."

"I got kicked out of Boy Scouts," Mac said. Jack could hear an almost smile behind the words, and when Mac's head tilted back to center, he could see it, quirking up the corner of his lips ever so slightly.

"How does somebody like you get kicked out of Scouts?"

"I suck at rules. And people telling me what to do. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

Jack chuckled just a little and gave Mac's shoulder another squeeze. "Jesus, kid, the Army must've been a helluva ride."

Mac shrugged again. "I sort of hated it. I made some good friends though. Carlos, Miles, this kid Ricky. Good guys. And now there all getting married, having kids … having good lives."

"Lemme guess … you did more of that stuff I was just talkin' about and saved their asses at some point?"

Mac just shook his head. But he didn't answer so Jack figured he was at least partially right.

"Which brings me around to you skatin' out of that field hospital and sneaking into that truck and …"

"I had to make sure Z made it out. I had to …"

"We covered that before I left, Mac. I thought you trusted me to do my job but you showed up any way and what you …"

"I do trust you!" he interrupted hotly. "I just, I needed to see for myself …"

"What you said at the time, what you every time in fact amounts to 'yeah, but'." Jack paused. "You're important. People … Hell, not just people, but me … I care about you, kid. I need you to do the same."

Mac leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His whole body hummed with tension, and Jack could tell, through the hand now resting in the middle of his friend's back, that he was trying almost desperately not to break down.

"So we're gonna try this again. Bad dreams?" Jack asked in exactly the same tone he'd asked before.

Mac let out a shuddering breath, then another, more even one, before answering. "Really bad." He paused, thinking. "Like I said, I think I broke your lamp jumping out of bed. I should pick it up. Then you can go get some sleep."

"Or you sleep on the other side so you don't accidentally step in broken glass and leave it right where it is and I'll get the lady Patty hired to clean the place while I'm laid up to take care of it tomorrow."

"I …"

"Talk to me, kid."

"I don't think I can sleep in here right now without the … Nothing. Never mind. It's stupid."

"I'd bet my whole Vegas fund that you've never said anything really stupid your whole life. Tell me."

"I don't want to sleep with no light. Okay?" He sounded angry, whether at Jack for making him say it or himself for feeling that way neither man was sure.

"Makes sense to me, bud. I sleep with the light on most nights. Makes it easier to know if I'm really awake if my dreams are bad."

"Do they happen to you a lot? The dreams?"

"Often enough, kid. C'mon out into the living room. You can have the couch. I'll take the recliner. It's easier to keep my leg elevated in the chair anyway."

Mac dutifully followed Jack into the living room, although he avoided looking Jack fully in the face. He'd been crying and he felt like he might start up again. He just curled up on the couch, facing the back cushions, wrapped in the knitted blanket off the back, as hastily as possible.

Jack arranged himself in the recliner thinking he was glad it actually turned out to be comfortable because when he'd made the suggestion he was expecting it to kind of suck. He left the dim reading light on the end table by Mac's head on, but turned off everything else on his way to the chair. He sighed contentedly to be off the crutches for the night.

He listened to the soft rustling of Mac trying to get comfortable. Finally, after several minutes of it he made a gentle suggestion that Mac maybe take a pain pill.

"They make the dreams worse. I barely slept at all last night," he admitted.

"Okay … But, and I'm only saying this cuz I really do care, maybe you need it anyway. I'll wake you up if you start to …"

"No. I'm fine."

"Fine again is it?"

A heavy sigh. "Okay I'm not fine. I hurt all over and I can tell you my pulse accurately because my shoulder is making sure I know it. But I don't want the pills, Jack. Because I can either hurt or I can keep reliving what they did to me, what being captured and tortured by them was like, what drowning five times a day was like, in full dream technicolor surround sound. On balance, I'd rather have the pain."

That was the first time Mac had said he'd been tortured, or even alluded to being waterboarded. He also openly admitted his pain. That was a big step. "Okay, kid. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push. But maybe tomorrow you could talk to Elliot or, ya know, maybe go in to the infirmary, and somebody could get you different pills."

Mac shifted under the blanket. After a minute, he conceded, "I guess."

"That'd go a long way to showing the people who care about you that you care, too."

"I already said okay, Jack. Jeez."

The slight affectionate irritability was a welcome, familiar sound.

"Okay, kid. Get some sleep."

Several minutes passed. Jack thought maybe Mac was starting to doze, but he heard a very quiet, "Thank you, Jack."

"Always, bud. I have always got your six."

Mac turned his head to be sure Jack heard him. "Me too. I mean, I'll always have your back too."

Jack almost sighed. That was Mac speak for see you in the next exploding warehouse or burning barn. But he supposed he'd take what he could get.

"Thanks, kid."


	40. Chapter 40

Mac didn't want to get up.

Not even a little.

But if he didn't, he knew for a fact that Jack would be right back at DEFCON 1 on the skinny blond bomb nerd defense system.

He suppressed a groan. He'd finally slowly started to sort through everything, mentally and physically, late yesterday. Physically he felt like he was on the mend, more or less. The mental aspect of things required a lot of effort and recalculation. He didn't like anything he'd come up with.

He'd been restless, unable to sit, but still too sore all over to do much else. He decided he was just done. DXS would get O'Neill and Zwickey was home. He could just move on. And that's what he was trying to do.

He'd flaked on his agreement with Jack to either go to the infirmary or talk to Elliot about different pain relief.

He said it felt better.

What he meant was the pain was steady enough that he was learning how to put it into the background, to ignore it enough or accommodate it by changing his movements or avoiding a task. He figured that was good enough.

This morning his shoulder was yelling at him about it.

Loudly.

 _Probably shouldn't have lugged the laundry or made up the bed last night, but I'll be damned if I admit it to Jack._

He heard the hiss of steam that told him the automatic coffee maker had kicked on and seconds later the smell of the dark roast he'd picked up yesterday when he'd gotten a case of cabin fever and walked to the store started to spread through the apartment.

That meant Jack would be up any minute. He was supposed to go in to the office today for some briefing or other. Mac knew because Jack mentioned it at least three times, with the question did Mac want to just wander in with him and hit up the infirmary. Foster wasn't working, he said. He'd checked. Mac's third 'no thanks' morphed into a 'no, shut up', because he was fine, thank you very much.

Jack had gotten up, crutches and all, and come over to sit next to Mac on the couch. "You do know Sissy's office is over in that part of town, too, right? And there's absolutely nothing wrong with maybe trying therapy out again after everything that …"

"I'm fine, Jack," Mac interrupted.

Jack sighed none too quietly. "Bud, I keep hearin' you say it, and I half think you really believe it."

Mac closed his eyes and took a long breath.

"Hey, look at me, kid."

Mac did, although his expression had gotten a shade more disgruntled.

"Thing is," Jack went on, "I'm pretty damned sure it's bullshit, because nobody who went through what you just went through is fine, physically, mentally, or any other way. And I know, cuz I've been there."

"Jack, it's … I'm seriously good. I'd tell you if I wasn't, okay?"

"First of all, no you wouldn't because you're Mac. And second of all … You know what, I don't need a second of all. Bad things happened to you and you're going to 'I'm fine' yourself into a nervous breakdown, kid. For real now. Trust me, I know."

Jack's expression said he was going to expound upon things, either how he knew, or how bad Mac looked, and Mac didn't think he could handle either thing. He didn't want to know about Jack suffering, it was bad enough that he knew it happened, he couldn't hear about it. Not right now. And he _was_ fine, he'd swear in front of anybody it was true. Well, mostly true. Okay, maybe he wasn't fine, but he would be. He just needed time.

He sighed. "I'll think about it. Does that satisfy my Overwatch?"

Jack looked at him for a long silent minute. "I guess." He paused for a minute, looking almost longingly at the pillow on the end of the couch. "You headin' to bed soon?"

"I wasn't." Mac frowned. "You tired?"

"Little bit."

"I'll take the couch tonight, Jack. I'm not ready for bed. I've got to text Boze in a little bit and keep up the whole out of town for work thing. And I might watch the news, if noise out here won't keep you up."

Jack studied him again. "Sure, bud." He got his crutches under him and started for the linen closet. "If you're gonna camp out here, I'm gonna change the bed and then crash."

"I changed it a while ago. I meant to mention wanting to stay out here earlier, but I forgot."

"I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to be doin' stuff like that that's gonna pull on that shoulder or jostle those cracked ribs."

Mac grinned. "I'm pretty sure you can't actually change a bed while you're on crutches either."

"Yeah well, you let ole Jack decide what he can and can't do."

"How about you extend the same courtesy to ole Mac?"

Jack chuckled. "Ole Mac, huh? You are at least ten years from using that as anything other than a joke."

Mac picked up one of the throw pillows off the couch and hit Jack in the middle of the chest with it. "Go to bed, old man," he laughed.

After Jack closed his door, Mac sat up for a long while, just thinking, trying to decide if all the concern was just Jack being Jack, or if he had a point.

When he realized time had ticked on from late night to very early morning, he'd finally curled up on his good side, pulled the knitted afghan off the back of the couch, wrapped it around himself, and sunk into a fitful, nightmare-filled sleep.

Now he lay on the couch listening to the sounds of Jack getting up, moving around his room, swearing, and finally caving and getting his crutches. He sighed and started to push himself up to sitting, swearing softly at the way his whole body was still protesting even the smallest most careful movements.

"Mornin' kid," Jack greeted, heading toward the counter for coffee.

Mac forced himself to his feet. "Sit; I've got that."

Jack tipped a grateful grin. He kept breaking coffee mugs by dropping them trying to drink and walk at the same time. He perched on one of the stools at the counter, resting his leg on the nearest rung on the stool beside him. "Thanks, bud," he said with another smile when Mac handed him his coffee. He took a sip. "Damn, this is good. Whadja do to it?"

"Bought decent coffee," Mac laughed, sitting on the only other available stool. "Glad you approve."

"Mmmmm," Jack agreed, taking a long sip. He always needed some caffeine to really get his ass in gear in the morning, but he rarely actually enjoyed his coffee and more than one made his hands shake slightly. No big deal for most people, but for a marksman it was disquieting. He'd probably have a second cup of this though. "Thanks, man. I gotta head out in a few, and waking up to this helps." He paused. "What're you planning today while I'm gone?"

Mac appreciated that Jack wasn't starting the day with another 'you've got to deal with this before it deals with you' push. He gave a safely comfortable one shouldered shrug. "Hanging out. Maybe seeing how hard it would be to cover up these bruises so I can go home and sleep in my own bed. They aren't all that dark, but they'd screw my work travel story with Boze. I hate bullshitting him like this, but even if I could tell him, all it would do is freak him out."

"Am I such a crappy roommate you're really ready to resort to wearing makeup just to get away from me?" Jack teased.

Mac took the question seriously though. "I need to get back to normal, Jack. I feel … I just … I'm ready to go back to my normal life, maybe just pretend this was all another bad dream."

Jack nodded. "I understand the impulse, kid. And who knows? Maybe it'll work for you. Gettin' back at it has worked for me often enough."

Mac flashed a quick smile, but didn't say anything else. He stared into his coffee cup for a few minutes.

Jack let him have his silence.

He finished his coffee, checked his watch, and realized he didn't have time for a second cup. He got to his feet and sighed as he got his crutches. He was already tired of using them.

"Take it easy, kid. I gotta head in or Patty's gonna spend the first ten minutes of this briefing chewing my ass."

Mac looked up. "Have a good meeting or whatever it is you're doing."

"I better not come home and find this place top to bottom cleaned or anything. Watch tv, maybe grab a nap. You don't look like you slept."

There was the Overwatch tone. Mac nearly laughed. "Be bored. Got it."

As Jack was heading out the door, his house phone rang. "Hello … Yeah, he's up. I don't know if he's … I'll ask him." Jack turned back to Mac. He looked both vaguely apprehensive and determined. "Hey Mac, Elliot got the whatever specialist he told you about to agree to see you at DXS and she's passed Patty's vetting. If you come in with me, she could see you today, and afterward you could start debriefing stuff …" He paused at Mac's expression because he couldn't read it at all. "If you want."

Mac nodded and got up. "Can you give me ten? I'll go get cleaned up and dressed."

Jack relayed that to whomever was on the line and then listened for a moment before ending the call. "Take your time, kid. I just got reassigned to debrief with you anyway, so we can get there when we get there. They'll just book the doc for the whole day anyway."

Mac headed for the shower.

0-0-0

It was well after lunch time when Mac finally escaped the infirmary. Well, not so much escaped as he was finally released, but it felt like an escape to him after hours of not hearing any news that was particularly welcome.

He was headed to Thornton's office when Jack appeared apparently out of nowhere and fell into step beside him. "Nice sling. You look more comfortable. It's almost like you should have been wearing one of those from the get-go."

Mac tossed him a semi-embarrassed but mostly rueful smile. "You're a real jackass when you think you're right, you know it?"

"Sargeant Jackass, reporting for duty," Jack grinned. "What'd the doc say?"

Mac sighed as he hit the button for the elevator. "That there's a little bit of muscle and ligament damage but the tendons are fine, that the bone got a little scratched up which is probably why it still hurts like holy hell, and that I can do intensive physical therapy or I can get it surgically repaired and then do some recovery physical therapy." He shrugged with his good shoulder and stepped into the elevator.

Jack followed. "And which did they think was a better idea?"

Another shrug. "I didn't ask. And before you decide for me, I'm thinking it over. There's positives and negatives to both."

"Mmm." They stepped off the elevator. "Like what?"

Mac sighed as he started down the hall. "Well, the major downside to either one is that I'm sure my Overwatch is going to question my decision no matter what it is." He punched Jack lightly on the arm, careful not to unseat his hold on his crutches.

Jack chuckled. "Probably. How's it feel now?"

"Like I let somebody pummel it all morning after a dude spent hours pretending I was a bottle of Bordeaux about a week ago. How's your leg feel? Like you half got blown up and part of a building fell on it?"

That was defensive Mac, but it didn't sound bad tempered.

"Pretty fair description. And I actually let somebody fix it for me already."

Mac laughed. "You can't even help it, can you?"

"Help what? Lookin' out for my best friend?"

Mac's breath caught for just a split second. Best friend. He was reasonably comfortable with the fact that Boze often said that. Boze had a lot of friends, but Mac was the only one who knew what lay behind Bozer's broad smile and boisterous, almost over the top persona. And before he met Jack, Bozer was the only one who really knew why his eyes so often went distant or sad, why he avoided conversations about family. They'd called each other best friend since they were maybe twelve.

But Jack … Mac felt like he'd mostly been a trial for Jack to endure when they met. That feeling slowly wore away. He'd known Jack really cared about him when he re-upped as his Overwatch instead of just going home. For a lot of people 'best friend' was just words, just something to say. But Jack had been showing him that he meant it for a while now. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah, that."

He'd tried to keep his tone light, and knew he'd failed miserably, so he especially appreciated Jack just smacking him on his good shoulder and laughing. "Well, kid, you're officially stuck with me and my inability to help it."

He managed a grin this time. "Guess I'll learn to live with it."

When they finally got to Thornton's office, the door was closed, so they settled into the waiting area around the corner from it. Mac sat looking at his phone and Jack sat looking at Mac.

After a few minutes, Jack asked, "Whatcha lookin' at?"

Mac glanced up. "My options." That wasn't going to be enough for Jack; he could tell. "Like just physical therapy could take several months, but there no real risk involved, whereas surgery has some risk but would probably have me squared away in weeks as opposed to months."

"What do you think you want to do?"

Mac raised and lowered both shoulders in a sort of reflexive shrug, grimacing at the shooting pain there. It was so sharp and overwhelming for a split second he was back in that basement with Zahir.

He shivered and Jack obliged him by pretending not to notice.

"My first impulse is that surgery that's not explicitly necessary is just … a bad idea. But I told Dr. Rawson I'd look over all the materials she emailed me, so I am."

"You are one for keeping promises, kid. I've always liked that about you. Anything you read change your mind?"

"Oh, hell no. Besides, I'm not an athlete or an operative like you or anything. I work on cars part time, so it's not like I need to be in a hurry with it. And I met the pt while I was there. I could be convinced that spending a couple months hanging around her is downright brilliant as far as ideas go."

"Shelly?" Jack laughed. "Don't let her fool you, kid. She looks all pleasant and adorable, but she's a pt."

"Which means?"

"That she's got a sadistic streak a mile wide and probably should have gone into enhanced interrogation instead of any kind of medicine. And the other guy in physical therapy here, Stan, makes Shelly look like fluffy bunny by comparison."

Mac laughed. "Still beats getting into a knife fight I'd definitely lose since the plan would be to be unconscious for it."

Jack joined his laughter. Mac was taking this pretty well. This morning when Thornton's assistant had called, Jack was afraid Mac was going to balk at coming in, not so much for the debrief, but to deal with his shoulder. Jack knew how it had gotten hurt now so he wasn't surprised that Mac had been trying to box up the pain right along with his memories of his captivity. Neither was a good idea, so he was grateful things were going the way they were.

"That's … okay, that's damned funny."

"I'm capable of being funny on purpose … Occasionally." Mac grinned. Then he looked up to see several people coming out of Thornton's office. "Zwickey!" he called in surprise, getting to his feet and closing the distance between them.

"Hey there, Hollywood, how you doing? You look a little worse so wear, kid." Zwickey gestured toward Mac's newly acquired sling.

"It's just Mac these days, man. And I'm doing okay. They didn't have me for all that long." He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Then to cover his strained emotions he gestured to Zwickey's crutches and bandaged hand. "Looks to me like I got off light at that little shindig, Big Z."

"I'm finally home so it's just Zack now," he said with a smile at the younger man. Mac thought he looked like a different man, cleaned up and groomed with almost a weeks worth of good meals behind him. He looked more like the guy Mac had known when he was first in country. But ...

There was something so sad about the smile, it made Mac's heart race with the brief panicked certainty the the man was going to break down right here outside Thornton's office and if he did, so would Mac. He couldn't deal with that at all, so he tipped Z a grin. "Zack Zwickey? Damn. That's a mouthful."

The man grinned and it looked more natural this time. "This from Angus MacGyver? Seems to me maybe we both pissed off our parents before they ever took us home the first time." He paused. "Speaking of, that's where I'm headed next, to see my folks. I have a feeling my mom is gonna want to call you up and thank you personally for not giving up on me. Would that be alright?" he asked a little stiffly.

Mac forced a smile then. "Of course. And you, too. If you need to ... Coming home … it's not always .., I mean it's great, but …" Mac had the unwelcome sensation of wanting to break down again. He cleared his throat. "Call if you need anything."

"That's a two way street, Mac. I'd still be over in that shithole if it wasn't for you and your friend here. You ever need anything, up to and including a kidney. You'll know where to find me."

Zwickey's right hand was bandaged and Mac's left was tied up in the sling, so rather than a handshake they settled for a slightly awkward fist bump. "I'll be in touch," Mac promised.

Jack interjected, "And when we get O'Neill maybe we'll get together and celebrate a little, huh?"

"You got it."

They headed down the hall then. The two men in nondescript suits that flanked Zack were clearly security and the woman in crisp slacks and an immaculate linen blouse moved like an agent. DXS and maybe the Army were making sure Zack got safely to his family. That made Mac feel better. He hoped both organizations would keep an eye on him, help him adjust. Mac felt like his brain was made of wet towels soaked in gasoline and tied into knots that someone might set a match to any minute and he'd only been captive for a couple weeks. He couldn't imagine what Zack felt like right now.

Thornton stepped out of her office then, the evaluative expression she so often wore fixed on her face as she took in Mac's appearance. "Good afternoon, MacGyver."

"Ma'am," he said pleasantly. "Jack said you wanted to start debriefing everything with me today. Is that still convenient for you?"

She smiled slightly. "I would like to talk to you this afternoon. Why don't you both come in?"

They followed Thornton into her office and sat around a small table scattered with papers and several computer tablets. She looked at Mac in silence for long enough that he felt generally uncomfortable. The expression reminded him of the assistant principal at his middle school every time the fire alarm went off. He cleared his throat and glanced at Jack.

Finally Thornton spoke. "How are you feeling, Mac?"

"I'm well, ma'am. How are you?" He was not letting her turn this into a 'poor Mac' discussion.

She ignored his question. "You look tired," she observed.

 _Okay. Fine_. She wants to make a big deal out of a civilian getting hurt on an op he shouldn't have been involved in. Honesty was likely to move this conversation along and get him out of here faster that deflection. "I suppose I do, Director Thornton. I haven't been sleeping particularly well, as I'm sure you can imagine."

She and Jack exchanged a look then. Mac read it as maybe Jack had told her he wasn't doing as well as the face he presented to the world indicated. He was partially right. What Jack had told Thornton was that the inaction was eating the kid up, that he was worried.

"Because of the pain?" she asked, nodding at his sling. "I'm sure Dr. Rawson could be helpful with that, if you'll let her."

"We already spoke about that today," he said, then added without thinking, "and my shoulder is the least of my sleep problems."

Another long silent consideration. This time it didn't make him uncomfortable though; more irritated than anything. "Nightmares about what happened?" she asked, her tone entirely neutral.

"More like about what's likely to happen," he said almost under his breath.

Dalton's assumption was correct then, she thought. "You're worried that O'Neill got away again."

He met her eyes. "Yes, ma'am. I am. And I understand I need to back off, to stay out of it. My lack of training and insistence on being involved has gotten people hurt, put lives at risk." He glanced at Jack but was quickly distracted by the pleased expression in Thornton's face.

"Would you like some? Training, that is."

Mac frowned. "Are you offering me a job again, Director?"

She smiled her Cheshire Cat smile. "I'm offering you the opportunity to maximize your potential and use that potential to put an end to a very serious threat to our national security." She paused but he didn't respond. "I'm offering you a chance to finish what you started when you were nineteen, Mac. Not just getting O'Neill, but saving lives. Every day. No training at all except the rudimentary sort the Army gives you and you were a deciding factor in three separate missions now. DXS needs you, Mac. And your inability to sleep, your need to keep people safe tells me that you need us."

"I …"

He stopped himself and studied the back of his hand for a minute, mentally cursing the sling he was planning to ditch as soon as he was out of the building. What did he really want? Was taking this job the right thing to do? He suddenly wished he could will his grandfather's voice to chime in like it did sometimes when he was under extreme stress.

He glanced at Jack. He saw only care for him in his friend's face, not an investment in how he answered. But if anybody knew how much he'd been struggling it was Jack. And although Jack hadn't directly shared his own experiences in anything more than the most general terms, Jack had shared that taking action, doing something that felt important could go a long way.

He returned his gaze to Thornton. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in the job now, ma'am. But if I take it, I have some conditions."

One corner of her mouth crooked up. "Do you?"

"First, no firearms. I don't use them. That's not negotiable for me."

She was silent for a moment, glancing at her laptop. He was struck with the certainty that someone was listening to all of this and guiding her responses. He remembered thinking that the last time she'd offered him a job. He wondered what kind of control freak her boss really was. Since he was putting conditions on his employment he supposed he should be happy whoever was in charge would know about it.

"You wouldn't be the first agent that made that choice I suppose. It's rare, and I don't like it, I believe we can accommodate it if that's what it takes to bring you in. Although I would have to insist on personal security in the field."

"That's another condition. If I work here, I want to work with Jack. I trust him to have my back. And I don't really want anyone else to watch it."

The other side of her mouth joined the first one in a real smile. "Yes, well, Dalton has already made that a condition as well. Done."

Mac tossed Jack a grin. Jack returned it. The moment Mac had acknowledged that he might want the job, Jack had seen the kid relax in a way he hadn't since before the warehouse incident.

"And finally, I'd like to be involved with the think tank part of the organization too. I'm good at that, especially engineering. And I think DXS should take that part of the organization as seriously as the covert operations wing. I'd like to be part of making that happen."

There was another pause and she didn't even pretend to not be looking at her screen this time. "That's consistent with our current organization objectives as well. Or it will be as soon as Oversight and I present it to the board. You've got it. Anything else?"

Mac was a little stunned. "I … um … No ma'am. It'll take some time for me to get myself back into working condition."

"That'll be your job to start with then. Get yourself mentally and physically fit as expediently as possible, and the moment you're cleared, you can attend our training school. The moment you pass, so long as Dalton is back on both feet, you can go after O'Neill."

Mac grinned. He was surprised at how good he felt about this decision, considering how he'd rejected the idea in the past. But she had given him everything he asked for, so, he felt very much like he'd one some sort of victory. "Yes, ma'am."

She stood and extended a hand. He rose to do the same.

"Welcome to DXS."


	41. Chapter 41

_Epilogue_

"Jack, I get it, okay? It's like being Batman."

Mac figured the comic book reference would chill Jack out, or at least divert the lecture into more of an ignorable monologue. He needed to mentally prepare for their arrival. He was pretty sure he could do this, but he'd have to be careful. He was already distracted, and he needed to focus to pull this off.

Jack's face lit up and he glanced away from the road at Mac in clear approval. "Exactly! You have to have a cover to protect your loved ones, hell, even to protect yourself. You've already seen what it's like when the bad guy knows who you are. Honest to god Mac, I get sick to my stomach when I think what could have happened if O'Neill had found where you lived instead of having to go fishing for you at DXS, and …"

"But he didn't," Mac interrupted a little sharply. He hadn't meant to set Jack off about how he'd gotten himself taken prisoner and everything that had happened. His injuries were a present enough reminder of that. "Because apparently I'm already Batman … No, not Batman … Batman's kind of a jerk … I'd like to say Hulk because you know I love Banner, but that's stretching the metaphor a little."

"Ironman?" Jack asked helpfully, turning onto Mac's street. "He's a super science nerd who builds stuff just like you do."

"Ironman is good. But I'm not much of a drinker, and unfortunately my luck with women isn't even in the ballpark … not even playing the same game … as Tony Stark."

"I dunno, kid. Nikki seemed awfully pleased you were coming back to work."

Mac blushed a little; he could feel his ears and neck warming with it. "Yeah she did, didn't she?" He laughed to cover his mild embarrassment, as Jack pulled up in front of his house. "But I'm betting Tony Stark wouldn't have tripped over his own tongue when she flirted with him though."

"Hmmm," Jack said, still mulling over the superhero question. It was a familiar tension breaker from their days in uniform.

He and Mac got out of the car at the same time, but Mac was around to his side quickly to get the crutches out of the back seat and hand them to Jack. Even one handed, he currently had a distinct advantage mobility-wise.

"Thanks, man … Oh! I've got it. You are like our very own friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Dorky, and young, and helpful, with a nice smattering of science nerd and an ability to attract pretty girls you have no idea what to do with!"

Mac laughed more naturally this time. "Other than my complete inability to throw webs, and the fact that the idea of swinging off the tops of buildings is … let's go with … no fun, I guess he's probably close enough."

They got to the door. Jack looked at Mac again. "All joking aside, are you ready for this?"

Mac frowned but nodded. "Yeah. I've got to figure this out if I want Boze to be able to keep being my roommate … And honestly, I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight."

"You think he's gonna freak out?"

Mac sighed. "Oh yeah. He's definitely gonna freak out. But less than if I told him the truth." He grinned sheepishly. "This won't exactly be the first time I lied to him about an injury anyway. And half of what I did in the Army was classified too. I mean, this is a lot … But in a way, it's not really new."

He reached out with his good hand and opened the door. "Boze, I'm home," he called out as he and Jack went inside.

"Hey Boze!" Jack said, so Bozer would know Mac had company.

Bozer came around the corner. "Hey Jack! Hey Mac … ohmygodwhathappenedtoyouareyoualright!?" His smiling greeting morphed into a horrified exclamation as he practically sprinted to stand in front of Mac. "You didn't get carjacked again did you? Or shot?"

Mac plastered on his most reassuring smile, one he'd used on Bozer a million times when they were kids and he needed his frantic friend to step back from some proverbial ledge. "No, Boze. I'm okay."

"Okay? Okay?!" Boze asked incredulously. "You look worse than the time in ninth grade when Darlene Martin sat with you at lunch to make Donny Sandoz jealous!"

He led Mac to their sofa by his good arm. Mac widened his eyes at Jack in an I-told-you-so expression but let himself be sat down. "It's not that bad, Boze. The guy who did this wasn't trying to hurt me. Donny definitely was."

"What?!" Boze was standing in front of Mac shifting his weight around and looking like he was torn between letting Mac explain himself and calling 911. "Your face looks like … I don't even know! And a sling, too? What happened?!"

"I did something dumb," Mac began.

Jack flopped casually into the chair off to the side so he could see both of them, resting his leg and his crutches against the coffee table. "Can you believe that, Boze? Our own pet genius thinks he can do dumb things?" Jack interjected lightly to further take the edge off Bozer's worry since Boze knew Jack had a protective streak and if Jack wasn't worried he probably shouldn't be either.

"What did you do?" came out as an accusation more than a question but both Mac and Jack could read Bozer's tension already ratcheting down a notch or two.

Mac did an admirable job looking embarrassed. "So … you know how I took jiu jitsu when we were in high school?"

"Oh, Mac. You didn't."

"I didn't get in a fight!" He laughed. "Well, I mean I did, but the sparring in a ring kind, not the calling bullies who've been giving you crap since kindergarten a stunted warthog-faced Neanderthal kind."

"Huh?"

"The hotel Ainsley's put me up in for the car show had a fitness center and they had a bunch of classes. I saw jiu jitsu on the roster and … I was bored … I figured why not? But I misjudged a flip … I mean I haven't done one in years … and I went right out of the ring."

Bozer looked at him incredulously for a minute and Mac had to resist the urge to swallow hard as he became certain Bozer was going to call bullshit. Then Bozer just squinted at him. "How bad you hurt?"

Mac sighed and Jack had to conceal a smile at how absolutely perfectly Mac was selling this whole story. He'd worried Mac would feel badly about it, but when Thornton had told him Bozer couldn't know anything about his new job, Mac had nodded and said it made sense, that Bozer had agonized over his job in the military. He wouldn't want Boze to worry like that again every time he went to work. And he definitely wouldn't want Bozer to be a target because he had information. That … Bozer wouldn't bounce back from that, Mac was certain.

"It's not too bad, Boze, I busted up my ribs a little landing on some equipment and I tore up my shoulder pretty good, but it'll heal up in no time. Only problem is I can't work on cars one handed so I'm gonna be changing jobs again," he said like he really felt bad about it. Truth was, Don Ainsley had hired him because he liked him not because he needed the help, and since he had every intention of dropping by to shoot the breeze and maybe bring his bike over for work, he didn't think Don would take it very hard.

"What're you gonna do?" Boze asked, still looking like he thought Mac might break apart on him. Mac knew Bozer would suspect things were worse than he said. Boze knew him from far enough back to know why, too, so he wouldn't push too hard.

"Well, Jack set things up so I can go back to X-com's Applied Sciences Department. The boss really liked me so she's happy I'm free. After I get my shoulder all sorted out I'm gonna go get a little more training at their corporate office. I've missed it a little."

"That cute blond you had your eye on still work there?" Boze asked with a grin.

Mac nodded and raised his eyebrows. "She does. And she wants to get drinks this weekend."

"My boy!" Boze enthused raising his hand for a fist bump and laughing a little when Mac awkwardly automatically tried to respond with his sling-restrained hand. Then he looked at Jack with some concern. "How about you, Jack? I heard you took a tumble down some stairs. You're lucky you didn't break a hip or something.

Jack gave him an easy smile. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't just call me old and just tell you I'm okay," he chuckled. "I won't be peg leg Jack for too long."

Bozer turned back to Mac. "How about you? How long are you … you did actually get it looked at, right?"

Mac dropped his already deep voice down another register. "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

"Oh no you don't, roomie. You're not getting out of answering a simple question by quoting movies. That's a bad habit he's picked up from you, Jack."

"Guilty," Jack laughed. This was going better than he'd hoped. Mac was doing really well. Kid was a natural.

Mac gave Bozer a one shouldered shrug. Then he answered with what was almost totally the truth. "Elliot helped me out when it happened a few days ago and the job at X-com doesn't just come with insurance, it comes with its own infirmary. I'm seeing someone tomorrow to try to fix it up. I'm taking care of this, Boze, I promise."

"Really really?" he asked, glancing at Jack, too.

"Really," Mac assured him.

Jack grinned. "I can even vouch for him, Boze."

Bozer's face slipped into familiar skeptical lines. Mac saw the expression before it had fully formed. He shifted slightly, trying to decide how to head off Bozer's likely more intensive questioning. Jack caught the change in body language and jumped in again.

"I mean, he took some convincing, I'm not gonna lie and say he was all sensible right outta the gate, but he's come around some," Jack said with a teasing lilt. "I was very persuasive."

Bozer laughed and they knew he'd accepted their story. "Well good," Boze said, still smiling. He got up. "I'm supposed to be at work in a few. You okay here one handed?"

"I'll be here for a while if he needs any help, Boze."

"You're on crutches, Jack," Bozer pointed out.

"Well I figure Mac's got both feet and I've got both hands, so between us we make one mostly functional guy."

"There's something wrong with that logic, but I guess I don't have to worry too much about Team Mac and Jack."

"You working late?" Mac asked.

"Probably, the place has been so busy lately. Why?"

"Just I'll probably be gone when you get up. I've got an early appointment tomorrow. So if you wake up and the house is empty, I don't want you to worry."

"I'm not working until late again. I could make waffles for breakfast when you get back tomorrow." He didn't want to say so, but with Mac out of town for work and Jack not randomly stopping by for meals, he'd been at loose ends for the last couple of weeks. He liked having someone around to cook for.

Mac shifted again. Jack noticed but didn't jump in, just sat back wondering why Mac looked so uncomfortable. This was a situation where Mac could totally tell Bozer the truth about work. He was even more surprised when Mac pulled a regretful face and said, "Aw man, thanks Boze, I wish I could be home for that. But after I get done getting set up for physical therapy I'll be at X-com all day, dealing with getting back to work stuff."

Bozer's face fell. "That place was a lot more hours than Ainsley's before. You make sure you're not taking on too much before you heal up. It's sort of … a lot there."

"It is, but I get to do what I'm really good at there, so it's worth the time. I promise it won't let it take over my life. Maybe we could do a big breakfast Sunday when you're off?"

Bozer grinned. "You wanna come over Sunday Jack?"

"For your waffles, man? I'll even set my alarm."

"Alright! Great! See you later!" Bozer headed for the door, grabbing his keys off the counter on his way out.

When the door closed behind him Jack gave a nod of approval. "That went pretty well."

Mac sighed and ran his good hand through his hair. "Yeah. Yeah, it was okay."

"How come you didn't tell him you're getting that surgery tomorrow morning? Already backin' out? … Just curious," Jack hurried to add when Mac glared at him.

"No!" He shook his head. He supposed it was actually a fair question. "You hovering is enough. Boze … You have no idea, man. The dude is like …."

"A mamma grizzly looking out for her cub?"

Mac's face relaxed into a grin. "Pretty much. And I can't deal with Mama Bear Bozer right now. Your Overwatch routine is bad enough." They both chuckled, Jack because he was sure it was true and Mac from simple affection. "Besides, I'll be home sleeping it off by the time he gets home from work. No sense worrying the guy."

"You look like you want to have this surgery about as much as I want to have another breakup fight with my latest ex."

Mac shrugged. "Like I said earlier, it's agreeing to a knife fight I'm definitely gonna lose, but …" He shrugged again. "It'll probably shave months off my total recovery time."

"Patty didn't pressure you to do it did she?"

Mac smiled a little at the almost warning tone that had crept into Jack's voice. He almost wished she really had because he sort of wanted to see Jack line out the boss, and he could tell that's what would happen. "Not really," he hedged. "She did say you'd probably be field ready in a month or two … And I know she thinks surgery is a better idea because to be honest that's what Dr. Rawson said, but Thornton didn't make it an order or anything."

"So why you goin' that route if it's not what you want to do?"

Mac shrugged again.

"I'm not buyin' it," Jack challenged. Mac just raised an eyebrow in return. "You shrug it means either you don't know or you don't want to talk about it. And I don't believe for a minute you don't know why you're doin' a thing."

Mac shook his head with a slight smile. "Fine. You got me. I don't want to do it. At all. And Thornton maybe strongly suggested it would be her preference." Jack opened his mouth like he'd say something but Mac kept going to prevent it. "But I do want to go after O'Neill. Me. Not someone else. I …"

He stopped and closed his eyes. He stayed like that for long enough that Jack was getting ready to get up and sit down next to him. Mac shook himself a little when he heard Jack shift.

"I keep dreaming about him coming back. For you. For me. Hell, for Zwickey. He's from Michigan I think. There's always snow in those dreams with him. I'm not going to sleep easy until I know it's really over. You know?"

"I think I do, but … What's that have to do with your shoulder, bud?" Jack leaned forward, looking intently at Mac's face.

"If I'm medically cleared, if I pass the course she wants me to take … if I do that in time … she'll let me be involved in the takedown." He sighed. "If I try the conservative route I won't to cleared for at least six months and I could still wind up needing surgery. That'd put me a year from going in the field. The Mazari won't wait a year. So neither can I."

Jack nodded, thoughtful. "Well, so long as it's really your decision, kid, if the doc recommended it, it's probably your best bet."

"Yeah," he sighed. "You sure you don't mind driving me tomorrow?"

"Course not. I'll pick you up just like I said, then I'll keep you company until they let you go, bring you home and pack you in ice or whatever they want you to do."

"You don't have to hang around for the surgery, dude. That'll be so boring. I can just call you after."

"I won't be bored. I can pace around on my crutches worryin' about how that knife fight you plan to lose is goin'."

Mac laughed then. It was a very genuine sound. Jack hadn't heard Mac laugh like that in a long time. Then Mac met his gaze, and while he was still smiling, there was something very serious in those startling blue eyes. "Thanks, Jack. For … everything."

"Anytime, kid." He could sense Mac needed a subject change. "Wanna order a pizza and watch Die Hard?"

Mac grinned and nodded. "Sounds good to me. I'm guessing a beer is off the table in light of how I'm going to be spending my morning."

I'm guessin' maybe problyhaps it is," Jack agreed in an exaggeration of his usual drawl.

Mac shook his head with a wry sort of smile as he got out his phone to order pizza and Jack awkwardly started digging in the entertainment center for the right dvd, cussing about his crutches and his leg the whole time..

Mac placed their order and put away his phone and just sat waiting for Jack to queue up the movie. By the time Jack sat down next to Mac on the couch, he noticed the kid fidgeting with a paperclip, not making anything out of it, just kind of mutilating it. Maybe he needed to talk more than he needed a distraction.

"So what do you think about the whole spy school thing? Think you'll learn anything worth knowin'? I don't think I did, I was so good I graduated early."

"You sure you didn't just get kicked out?" Mac asked with a grin, appreciating the conversation.

"I'll have you know that I was the star pupil and the only thing that's kept me from getting asked back as an instructor is how good I am at protecting high value American assets and skinny bomb nerds."

Mac laughed in earnest now. "Yeah, I bet that's what's up." He picked up the remote and started skimming the menu options.

"You think you'll like the job, Mac?" Jack asked a little more seriously.

Mac shrugged. "I think it's a job worth doing. And that's something."

"What'll you do if it isn't what you expect?"

Mac started the movie and gave Jack a very genuine smile, tossing the paperclip onto the coffee table and settling back to watch the movie until the pizza arrived.

"I'll do what I always do?"

"What's that?"

"Improvise."

 _The End_

 _Coming Soon - Education Is What Remains (Also known as Mac goes to spy school & gets to chase some bad guys and blow some stuff up!)_


End file.
